For the Empire
by Fulcon
Summary: The Empire was always good at creating its own enemies. Self Insert fic.(On Hiatus)
1. I'm in Star Wars

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Corperation. Please support the official release._

* * *

I have _no_ idea how I died. Don't remember it at all. Ideally, I would've died in a gunfight, waged by some idiot shooter that wanted to, I dunno, shoot up a place that I was in. I would've grabbed a gun from a fallen police officer and died saving everyone that wasn't dead as a result of the shooter.

Realistically, I died falling down the stairs. Or a car crash, but that'd ironic, considering the last fanfic I ever wrote involved the SI being killed by a car crash. Last thing I remember was typing then…blackness. After an indeterminant amount of time, a female voice.

 _Hey, sorry you died. You wanna reincarnate into another universe?_

Who are you, why are you asking and it depends on the universe?

I had _died_. There wasn't much you could really do to _scare_ me at this point.

 _Just a ROB looking for souls to shift around in my spare time,_ it had said. _I like seeing what people from one universe do when placed in another universe. It's fun!_

It was _quite_ likely that this ROB had something to do with my death. But what was I going to do, call her out right there? At best, I lose out on a do-over on my life. At worst, I get sent to a death world like Warhammer 40k.

No thank you. Also, I should not be _this_ calm with dying. Healing magic meets Psychological Trauma? I'm actually okay with that.

No name?

 _No point, you can't understand it._

Can I say no?

… _yes. But I hope you don't._

Alright, uh…would I be able to pass on to the afterlife like a normal person afterwards?

 _Oh yeah! Definitely! This is just a hobby…think of it like I'm_ borrowing _you for a science project._

You promise?

 _Of course!_

Alright then.

 _Would you like Star Wars?_

YEAH!

 _Okay, have fun!_

Can I use the force?

 _Sure!_

…are we going to talk again?

 _Nope. Well, maybe if you die again. I'll be watching!_

And that conversation, which is more of a humorous exaggeration than the actual conversation which I can only recall at the fringes of the back of my memory, was the last I had ever heard from the...possibly _benevolent_ ROB.

* * *

Being born sucked.

Like, more than I would have thought because it was facilitated by _droids_ , which freaked me out a _lot_. They floated around, their mechanical arms held me, picked me up, wiped me down…you know. Being born things.

I was born on Coruscant, and let me tell you, this place is _wild_. Even looking out my bedroom window and watching all of the speeders flying in their assigned lanes, their headlights forming an endless sea of streaming stars…honestly, it actually made me happy to be here. This planet has _lovely_ sunsets, and it only got better when it finished setting and the sky went dark, turning the space of Coruscant into a living galaxy right outside my window.

I was really happy to be here. I mean, I missed my family terribly, but…my memory of them was fading and it was horribly unlikely that I'd ever be allowed to go see them again.

This wasn't Harry Potter or Naruto, universes with any sort of functional, dimensional magic or teleportation that would allow me to get home in spite of that, in any event.

So…best thing to do is to just treat this as a whole new life. The old ship, with the United States of America, Canada, Mexico…it has sailed. No real way to get back…time to…

Oh, I'm crying. Great.

But I need to let it go.

The first step to that, I think...is learning to accept my new name, in place of my old one.

Jethro Plite.

It's the name the droids have been calling me by and in a way, I like it. It's…different.

Coruscant has lovely sunsets.

I was an orphan, actually. I appreciated this, I don't think I'd be able to handle having _parents_ since I have the memories of an adult. I mean, I'm under no delusions that I'll be as mature and developed as an adult _mentally_ in spite of my memories, but some things…I don't think I'd be happy with that.

The orphanage I was placed in was manned entirely by droids. Nanny droids, something I still got a happy _thrill_ whenever I see them, even after having been taken care of by them for the past _three_ or so years. I mean…droids! _Droids_!

This is Star Wars!

Yes!

But it's not all sunshine and roses. For starters, no one spoke English. _Basic_ , the Language of the Galaxy Far, Far Away is _not_ English. And neither is Aurebesh, the alphabet. Honestly, as far as Language goes, Basic felt… _simpler_ than English did, but it was still a pain to learn. I mean, being immersed in it twenty-four seven was a huge boon in that regard but it was still annoying when I had to learn how to learn a whole new alphabet and its accompanying nursery song.

Aurek, Besh, Cresh, Dorn, Esk, Forn, Grek, Herf, Isk, Jenth, Krill, Leth, Mern, Nern, Osk, Peth, Qek, Resh, Senth, Trill, Usk, Vev, Wesk, Xesh, Yirt, Zerek are all equivalent to the ABC's in English. But Aurebesh had additional characters for letter combinations like Thesh for TH and so on. If I wanted to spell _Luke Skywalker_ , it'd go Leth-Usk-Krill-Esk, then Senth-Krill-Yirt-Wesk-Aurek-Leth-Krill-Esk-Resh. _Jethro Plite_ , my name, would be spelled _Jenth-Esk-Thesh-Resh-Osk_ then _Peth-Leth-Isk-Trill-Esk_.

I find it odd that there's biblical names in this galaxy. I mean, I guess there's only so many syllables a human mouth can make, but _still_. It's bizarre. I will say that I _think_ there's a kid in the orphanage named _Lucas_ , a thought that amuses me to no end.

Most of the games the other kids play _bore_ me. Like, _really_ boring. That's to be expected to a point, I guess, but that's why I learned to read as _fast_ as possible, so I can start reading. We weren't allowed access to the Holonet until we turned _eight_ , sadly, but we _were_ allowed to read anything that was available to us, which went from picture books with _actual_ chapters, you know, those really short ones meant for children about age eight to ten?

Yeah, I picked those up really quick. Most entertainment I could find outside of the holo-nights er…movie nights on the fifth day of each standard week. Friday. Yeah. That.

There was also the technical books, again, meant for children. I _memorized_ those. They were simple, easy to read, if not a _little_ dry, but I learned everything I could. Because that's some very useful knowledge that I was going to need. Though by the time I was done, I had some of the absolute basics of how droids are built, how terminals are constructed, the base parts. Nothing fun, like how to make my own blaster but I imagine that comes later.

Did I have friends amongst the other kids?

Well, no. Not really. I played tag and stuff with them _occasionally_ , but I was a loner here and that actually suited me just fine. For now, though as I get older, I think I'll be more open to friendship.

Anyway, the ROB said I had the force. Do I have it?

I think so. I've had a lot of time to meditate and I _think_ I've been able to feel, I don't know, _something_ on the absolute edges of my consciousness. But without a formal education _in_ using the force, I don't think I'll be able to get all that far. Still though, the extra sense should be useful.

Well, I didn't get inducted into the Jedi Order, which _is_ a thing right now. I'm pretty sure the droid nannies would have reported my force sensitivity unless it's not something that can be reliably measured. But it can be, because midichlorians are also a thing. At least I think. How would they know a child or infant is force sensitive without being able to test for it?

Though I imagine, since all they do is let the host organism _talk_ with the Force (it is not the force itself) and I'm _pretty sure_ that the Force decides if it wants to talk to someone or not and makes midichlorians in the person so that he or she can be 'Force Sensitive'.

I could be completely wrong, though.

Heck, where even _am_ _I_ in the timeline? The Old Republic era? The first Jedi-Sith war? Darth Bane's era? The Clone Wars? Before the Clone Wars? The Empire and the Rebellion? Thousands of years _after_ the original trilogy? Until I have the answer to this question, I can't actually make plans for my future.

I mean, I can, but they wouldn't be very _complete_ plans.

At least I have time to decide.

* * *

"In order to ensure the security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the _first Galactic Empire!_ "

Oh.

Oh no.

That answers that question.

On the holo-screen was Palpatine, fresh from his fight with Mace Windu, his dark-side corruption visible to all and passed off as scarring. I…wow. It was honestly _chilling_ , hearing the Emperor _speak_ , knowing that _that psychopath_ with enough power to create black holes (if I remember correctly) was _on the same planet as me_ and currently ripping apart the giant, galaxy-spanning government which if I remember correctly had grown so bloated and rotten that it was more or less _asking_ to get annihilated.

But the _Empire_ , as much as I loved them as _villains_ …are so much worse. I mean, if they start trimming the fat, that's a _positive_ side effect but the blatant racism against aliens, the oppression, the fact that it's led by an Emperor whose so is insanely drunk off the dark-side that he makes _Voldemort_ look like a playground bully all make it _wrong_.

So what do _I_ do?

Well.

I don't know. I'm _five_ right now.

I mean, obviously, I join the Rebel Alliance. I…didn't do much in my old life. I _refuse_ to be an audience member to the galaxy while everything happens. So, join the Rebel Alliance. But in order to actually be _useful_ , I need skills. Military, shooty-shooty bang-bang skills. That mean I don't get killed. How do I _get_ those skills?

…I know the answer to that. But I do _not_ like it. At all.

The quickest and best way to get those skills is to join the Imperial Military. The _examples_ of that working…either it's _Wedge Antilles_ or _Han Solo_ , I don't remember which was canon, if they _both_ were canon or whatever. They were _huge_ boons, essential to the success to the Rebellion. But there's also _the proof_. The _giant_ proof that this works.

His name is Kyle Katarn.

An imperial commando turned mercenary who… _in Legend_ , got the Death Star plans and then moved on to deal with the Dark Trooper project. He was the _bomb_. He was incredible, he became a Jedi Master, kicked _so_ much tail. He was my favorite character to make as a custom character in the Lego Star Wars games.

With the release of Rogue One, he is _sadly_ non-canon. But for me, he was _the_ quintessential Star Wars character. He. Was. _Awesome_. Greatest character ever. Interestingly, with Kanan and Hera from Star Wars Rebels and Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, they _can't_ stop _making_ characters that _look_ similar or have a similar character arc to Kyle Katarn and Jan Ors.

Hilarious.

But following in Master Katarn's steps means _joining the Imperial Military_. A hard life full of danger, strict discipline and a cut-throat environment that makes organized crime look like a clean game of football. At its head are a pair of extremely powerful Sith Lords, both of whom can sniff out treachery by reading a person's thoughts.

If my Force Sensitivity is discovered, then I'm going to get forcibly inducted into…well, I don't remember if they had a branch of force sensitive operatives or if they just killed those they found to preserve the Rule of Two.

But _Kyle_ found a way through it without his sensitivity being discovered…then he found the Valley of the Jedi. He helped the Rebellion and then the New Republic in _gigantic_ ways.

Actually, _is_ the Valley of the Jedi a thing, still? That'd be worth looking into.

So, after that, what do I need?

Well, I don't know.

But what I _do_ know is that this plan is stupid, suicidal and due to the indoctrination that all the soldiers go through, I might not even _want_ to leave when the time comes.

But I'm still going to go through with it.

Because I think I'd hate myself if I didn't _try_.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: This is another SI, something I wrote for fun in between updates for SHINOBI. I hadn't really planned for it, I just wrote what I wanted. I hope you enjoy what you read, in any event. Updates for this will be fairly irregular as my focus is still on SHINOBI, but I hope everyone enjoys it._

 _Because this is a_ for fun _fic, I won't do my shout-outs unless they want me too. Other than that…enjoy! Tell me what you thought and I hope you like the idea of an SI that joins the Empire, at least until he gets what he wants._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	2. The Imperial Royal Academy

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please support the official release._

* * *

Imagine my surprise when I learned that you could join the Imperial Academy at age 13. I mean, I guess I shouldn't be _too_ surprised, given the fact that military might is a _huge_ focus of the empire. So, I was pretty happy.

The past eight years since the founding of the Empire have not been spent idle. I've… _forced_ myself to exercise. Nothing too intense, weight lifting is _really_ not appropriate for this younger body, but still. Push-ups, bridges, running…lots of running. It was a _lot_ easier since I wasn't a 200+ pound overweight adult and eventually, it stopped being a problem. It's not really something I enjoy, but it's not really something I _mind_ , either.

Studying was still a chore, but it was worth it. I knew how Starship engines worked, what power converters were, how blasters worked, how droids are assembled (something that's honestly not that hard to do, since a lot of their operating systems can be downloaded off of the holonet) and _math_. I forced myself to learn lots and lots of math. The only thing I don't know exactly how to do is how to build a lightsaber, though I do have an idea or two.

As for the Force. Well.

I've been working on it. As much as I can without any tutelage. Lots of meditation, trying to pay attention to those feelings and the awareness that's growing ever more apparent as things start to pulse with a _presence_ I don't recall. I can _proudly_ say that I can almost walk through the orphanage with my eyes closed. That's done mostly at night when there's a curfew for all residents and I can practice in peace.

But at this point, I think I can say I've got enough awareness that it would be easy to spot me as force sensitive _if_ you knew what you were looking for. I'm not going to be lifting _anything_ telekinetically for a while, but the awareness is enough for my purposes. The trick is going to be _hiding_ it from the Empire while I'm being trained in the way of the Storm Trooper.

That shouldn't be _too_ hard, but it will mean deliberately underperforming in at certain times and if I don't _sell_ the underperformance then I'm going to be in _deep_ bantha poodoo. But in _theory_ , if I can underperform believably, that means I'm good enough that I know how to mess up.

I will say at this point that I'm happy to leave the orphanage. The nanny-droids were very _loving,_ especially M0-M4, but they were also smothering. That, and I didn't really make any friends amongst the other kids, personal choice. There were bullies, there were lonely kids…I _associated_ with them, but I kept my distance because being around them almost felt like a _chore_.

I find it bizarre that I once thought I'd become friends with kids in this situation simply because I would be desperate for companionship. I don't know, they're good kids. Most of them, anyway. But I didn't want to be around them overly much because they felt…petty.

But they're kids, and being bothered by their pettiness makes _me_ petty for judging them. But I'm a _kid_. I'm supposed to be petty.

…

Let's add Hypocrisy to that list, shall we?

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I had told the nanny-droids that I wanted to join the Military they were very hesitant, but helped me fill out my application. I got a response back after two days, telling me that I had been accepted. The tedium and forcing myself to study paid off!

Of course, that meant I only had a couple more days of freedom before I boarded a shuttle to the _Royal Imperial Academy_ here on Coruscant. Apparently, it was the most prestigious academy in the Galaxy, which is good for me in the long run but also signifies that I had somewhat _underestimated_ my qualifications. I expected to go to Lothal, but I guess if an alien can become a Grand Moff, an orphan can get into the Royal Academy.

But I was _not_ spending my last days of freedom cooped up inside, I'm taking a walk outside around the buildings and skylanes to clear my head.

Speeders of all shapes and sizes zoomed past my head as I strolled down the walkway, the sun setting over the horizon, painting each skyscraper with its orange and red light. I couldn't possibly fathom the _size_ of these buildings as I leaned over the railing, looking down toward the infinite abyss down below. Coruscant, I decided, was a planet of giants.

It's been a _long_ thirteen years. Not… _torturous_ , I had enough activities to keep myself occupied but…long. Boring. Kind of lonely, actually. I didn't like anyone I met enough to make them my friend and I had enough occupying my mind to really go out of my way to learn more about them.

That might come to an end in the academy. Less people, in theory, less taxing for me to deal with them. The orphanage had nearly a hundred kids in it at almost all times. Many, thankfully, found themselves adopted. I was not one of them because I was very skillful in turning the attentions of perspective parents away from me. I was possibly helped by the force in this regard, but it was often a matter of staying out of sight or only appearing briefly to exchange greetings.

I don't want to give up the…freedom is the wrong word. The _agency_ that I have. I don't want to give up. I want to choose my fate, in as much as I can.

The smell of the city, all it's oils, it's denizens, it's vehicles…it stank. But it was a beautiful kind of stink that made me want to inhale and savor the fact that I was living in a giant city that encompassed an entire planet. In spite of how long I've lived here, walked these streets, it still blows my mind a little that I'm on _Coruscant_. This was _home_!

In my previous childhood, I grew up watching the original trilogy. Back when we still had VHS tapes, my Dad had a special edition box set that me and my siblings, as they came into the world, would sit down and watch religiously. My first real _lego_ construction was an X-Wing that I would pretend to fly with alongside Luke when he was in the trench run.

That was so long ago.

I seriously regret not ever actually sitting down to watch Rogue One. I mean, there's not really a lot that I can do about the Death Star or its plans besides grumbling that it's no longer Master Katarn graciously delivering the plans to the rebellion in between killing Dark Jedi and shaving with his lightsaber. But I do wish I had that little refresher or the insight it would've provided into the world I found myself plunged into.

* * *

I arrived at the space port a little early, as I preferred to do. My toes were twitching with nerves as I put down my pack. The shuttle bay was packed, sentients of all species moved around, moving onto departing shuttles and coming off of incoming ones.

It was noisy, though I would have to stop being bothered by _noise_ if I wanted a spot on the battlefield. It was helped by the presence of _aliens_. Rodians, Twi'leks, even a couple Trandoshans. I mean, I wasn't gawking at them, I had seen aliens before as I walked the streets of the planet, but I didn't see them often and the orphanage I was in was human exclusive.

"Now Jethro," my Nanny-bot escort, M0-M7 told me. Nanny bots were protocol droids, and this particular model had arms that reminded me of PVC pipe, with two, fully articulate fingers and a thumb. This nanny can grab things in reverse. "Just do your best and you'll be fine."

"Thanks, M7," I replied with a smile of my own. "I promise I'll try hard."

"That's my little Jethro," She said, eyes sparkling blue. See what I mean about 'smothering'?

We caught sight of a group of Storm Troopers accompanied by an Imperial Officer. He was a thin man, and he actually stood slightly taller than the troopers around him. I could see that the brown hair beneath his hat had been perfectly trimmed, and his face was _young_. They were standing in front of a shuttle. It wasn't a _Lambda_ class shuttle, it was much larger and bulkier, longer, too. But it had the 'folding-down' wings that the Lambda shuttle had, so I don't know.

"Oh, and, M7?" I said, stopping the droid. "Before we head off, I wanted to say thank you. And goodbye. You've helped me a lot…you're almost family."

"Oh, you're _most_ welcome, Jethro," M7 said happily. "I've come to regard you as family too. I really hope you do well."

The main reason I've…tried to keep my distance from the nanny-droids in spite of the fact that they were _every bit_ as sapient as a normal person is the fact that they regularly get memory wipes. I can see the logic, we don't want droids to rise up as one and lynch the sentients living here, but it still feels…off.

The shuttle was even bigger up close, and so were the troopers. In my old world, people who dressed up as Storm Troopers were an awesome sight, a sight that brought joy to kids everywhere they went because _Star Wars_. But here they were intimidating. Because that was real armor, those were real blasters and these were real soldiers.

"Excuse me, sir?" M7 said as we came up to the group. "Is this the shuttle to the Royal Imperial Academy?"

"This is," The Officer nodded. "I'm Ensign Orsic, I'm here to escort our newest cadets to the Academy. Is this one of them?"

"Yes indeed," M7 nodded. "This is Jethro Plite, he got his acceptance broadcast just three days ago."

"I see," Ensign Orsic lowered his gaze to me. "You're the orphan?"

"I am, sir," I nodded with an impassive look in return. "I wanted a better life for me and to serve my Empire. So, going into the Academy seemed like a win-win."

The Lieutenant actually smiled, but I'm not _sure_ that it reached his eyes. "Well. Good on you, boy. I hope we see _great_ things from you. Get on board and claim a seat, we're expecting a small group but no one else has showed up."

"Thank you, sir," Nice enough, I guess. Thought that's _likely_ a front to stop new cadets from _running_. I might not be going to the Sith Academy on Korriban, but this _is_ a dark-side endorsed learning institution.

Since I'm an orphan, and apparently the only orphan going to this academy, I already stand out. That's _bad_. If I stand out, that means I'm going to be watched, which means that I am _much_ more likely to be caught if I screw up. Which, I have deduced to most likely mean training in the ways of the _Sith_.

I mean, Jerec had to come from somewhere. And I recall at the edge of my mind some…Disney show that featured lightsabers somehow being used as helicopter-blades? Like…just the image. No context at all.

Being trained as Sith would be even _more_ dangerous than what I'm doing right now, both short term and long term. The psychological damage it would cause would be _catastrophic_. I read Darth Maul's journal and played Knights of the Old Republic; Sith are _monsters_. I can't afford to get caught under any circumstances.

Speaking of dark jedi, I wonder if _Starkiller_ is a thing right now? I desperately hope not, that would be a fight that I will _not_ win. That guy slaughtered rebel and stormtrooper alike just so he could leave _no witnesses_.

So, I have to put in place a plan…a _system_ to use to regulate my success. I need rules to put in place. But until I get there, I don't know what' going to work and what's not. How often are evaluations? What do these evaluations entail? How will I be judged? What are they looking for in force sensitives?

I need to stop worrying. It's not doing anything productive, so I just need to calm down, let go of the nervousness come up a plan when I know enough to make one that actually has a chance of working. Something I _do_ know is that I need to…limit my performance in the technical and flight departments, I don't want the heads of the Academy deciding I'd be much better as someone in R &D or a Tie Fighter Pilot.

It would be pretty tough to rebel as a commander of a Star Destroyer – I'd have so many eyes and bounty hunters after me and I _wouldn't_ have the skills to fend them off myself.

At the sound of footsteps entering the shuttle, I turned in my seat. Up the ramp came a kid my age with his own personal protocol droid. He had short black hair and dark skin, his shirt and slacks of the _finest_ make. Shirt was mostly red with black trimmings and his pants were colored grey. Rich kid. Probably a brat.

"Droid, put my bags up in the overhead compartments," The kid ordered with a glare.

"Yes sir," The droid nodded and lifted both bags already in its arms into the overhead compartments with what I noticed was some difficulty on the droid's servos.

Definitely a brat. Didn't even _thank_ the droid. But…again, memory wipes.

Alright, so, what do I _want_ out of the Academy?

Military tactics, how to shoot a blaster, how to maintain armor…

"Hey you," The kid looked at me with a frown and an eyebrow raised condescendingly. "What's your name?"

I looked at him with an impassive gaze. "Jet Plite. You?"

"I'm Parter Cores," The kid said with a proud smile. "My father is one of the Administrators here on Coruscant. He got me enrolled in the Royal Academy because he _knows_ that _I_ will do well."

"I'm sure you will," I replied absently, turning my head away from him and back to my thoughts. With an attitude like his, he'll probably do just fine.

"What about you?" He almost sounded offended. "How did _you_ get in the Academy?"

"Pure luck," I replied with a shrug.

"What's that mean?" He asked.

Man, this kid is full of questions, isn't he? "I studied really hard, took an examination, got accepted to the academy. To be honest, I was expecting to go to the Academy on Lothal."

"Your parents aren't anyone important, then?" He asked with a frown.

"I'm an orphan, technically," I told him. I barely remembered my old parents. This was intentional, though; if I kept thinking about my old life, I'd drive myself crazy.

"Oh," He said, turning away from me and looking away.

Yeah. I'm going to be surrounded by people who care almost _entirely_ about status. That's fine, it just means that I'm going to have to work harder. Thankfully, as the past thirteen years have shown, I'm _actually_ pretty good at that when I've put my mind to something.

The shuttle started to fill up. I counted fifteen boys and twelve girls, all my age or close to it. I wonder how many other shuttles are bringing in kids from elsewhere.

After we had landed, the Ensign and Storm Troopers had shepherded us out into the court-yard. On exiting the shuttle, my back-back slung across my shoulders, I caught sight of the Imperial Palace, it's spires stretching up into the sky over the buildings of the campus.

You know, I never looked at the details of the palaces construction in my studies. Personal head canon is that it was built on the ruins of the Jedi Temple. I wonder if that's true?

"Keep moving," Ensign Orsic called sternly from behind me, making me jump and I hurried back into line.

Looking around, I saw a veritable _mob_ of new students piling out into the courtyard. Apparently, there were a _lot_ of shuttles bringing in kids from everywhere. I couldn't count everyone in the class, but by my estimation, there were _thousands_ here.

"Get into formation!" More commanding officers joined Ensign, calling out these orders. We formed up into a square, each student neatly spaced into a square. Eventually, the officers stopped shouting. If I hadn't looked it up, I would be surprised that the first few hours were this…tame. I would have expected the shouting to start immediately.

But this is an Academy and we're going in as Juniors. People who graduate are _not_ expected to go into the Military. That's not to say that life in the Academy won't be stressful. The propaganda may have painted a rosy picture, but this place _encourages_ backstabbing, traitorous behavior. I imagine it's so that the recruits don't have a problem with the Klingon Promotions the Sith are so fond of.

"Greetings, Cadets!" This was Commandant Deenlark, the head of the Academy here. He was _very_ tall, just under two meters tall. "And welcome to the Imperial Royal Academy. You have come here, today, to learn how to serve your Empire."

Well, technically, I came here to learn the tools of the trade needed to _dismantle_ the empire.

"You enter today as children. Here, you will learn loyalty. You will learn discipline. You will learn the path to Victory," Deenlark continued, most likely speaking into a microphone somewhere on his uniform, the way his voice boomed throughout the courtyard. "You will take your passion for the Empire and turn it to strength. Through this strength, you will become the power that courses through the veins of the Empire, carrying it to victory."

As a Junior, my classes would only go on for a year. Afterwards, I could either join up with the Senior Academies and after that, I'd go on to join either the Imperial Army, the Imperial Navy or the Storm Trooper Corps. That _latter_ one is the one I'm aiming for, because that is the one with the SCAR troopers.

Incidentally, that allegory based on the Sith Code is void of any mention or symbolic gesture of the force. Probably because knowledge of the Force is being suppressed. I wasn't dumb enough to run a Holonet search on it, but I haven't seen any mention or retrospectives on the Jedi Rebellion.

"It is here that you will learn to carry the will of the Emperor out in whatsoever place you find yourself in," Deenlark continued. "You will be trained to be the best citizen you can be, and then afterwards, if you so choose, can choose to join the Imperial Military to take your call to serve to the farthest reaches of the galaxy."

SCAR troopers, or Special Commando Advanced Reconnaissance troopers, are basically the Empire's version of the Navy Seals. Obi-Wan Kenobi, back in A New Hope said that Storm Troopers had precise aim and those guys embody that statement; they were the absolute best of the best. If I wanted the best training, that's where I'd have to look. Requirements are _strict_ , though and I'm not up to the physical requirements. Yet.

"The road ahead will be difficult. The weakest of us will wash out, unable to cope with the challenges ahead. This is not only natural, but preferable," Deenlark continued, a frown on his face as he surveyed us all. "The Empire has no use for weakness. Only the strong will graduate from the Junior curriculum and the stronger still from the Senior academies. Those who make it will go far in the Empire, and bring its glory to the reaches of the Galaxy."

If I don't make it to SCAR, I could be a Jumptrooper. Get a jetpack. Fight in Zero-G or Low-G environments. Pirates or Smugglers hiding out in an asteroid belt? That's what they do.

…SCAR Troopers get jetpack training too. Not every op _requires_ a jetpack, so it's mostly optional, like how some troopers can decide to carry an extra bandolier or two of ammo. Most choose not to because they don't need the extra weight.

"I look at all of you and I see potential. In each and every single one of you lies the potential to graduate and carry the reach of our Empire to the very edges of the Galaxy and beyond," Darkleer looked like he was about to wrap up. I _think_ I missed about half of his speech because I got distracted, but I wasn't… _interested_ in actually becoming indoctrinated in the Imperial line of thinking. I'll help you guys in exchange for the training, but after that, I'm swapping sides. "It is _up to you_ to see that potential through to the end! It is by your choice whether you graduate or fail! It is _your_ choice, at the end of each Standard Day, whether you become strong, or if you are weak. I hope you make his majesty, the Emperor, proud by making the right one. Dismissed."

With that, he turned and walked off to do Commandant things. The Ensigns pointed at me and 19 other boys and put us together as class 99. He ordered us to follow him, single file and he led us off to the left.

The thing about living on a planet-wide city was that the buildings were always, without question, bigger than they looked, simply because they could build down with very little complications. Older buildings got repurposed into the basements and foundations of the buildings above it all the time. But I still wasn't expecting the barracks to have over two hundred floors and this was only building _B_. There was still buildings A through G. We were taken to floor 25 by stairs.

Oh, Parter's in my class, and he looked like he was having trouble with those bags. Probably shouldn't have packed so much. Me, I only took clothes and toiletries. I packed light.

"Your bunk has been assigned to you," the Ensign whose name I had not been informed of. "Look for your name and toss your things on it. We'll be going to collect the uniforms you'll be using during your time here at the Academy and then we'll be going to the mess hall for your midday meal. Any questions?"

I unshouldered my backpack and tossed it on the bunk helpfully labeled with a nameplate that had been bolted to the wall _right_ above the mattress.

"Yeah, uh," One of the other kids started, this one had pale skin and long-ish black hair. It was well combed, but it was long. I will be shocked if he's not forced to cut it later.

"They don't matter," The Ensign cut in. "Your only concern is your training. Now follow me."

Cold. Figures, but cold.

I fell into the back of the line and we followed him back up the stairs, marching up past classes which were marching down to their rooms. We got back up to the base level and marched over to another building, where we were handed a box for our academy gear to go in. With this box, we were put into an assembly line, where various droids would drop the gear we would be using during our one-year stay. Ooh, a white uniform. A helmet that looked like an AT-AT pilot's helmet, but had a Storm-Trooper-esque faceplate. Nice.

Hmm…no blaster rifle. Makes sense, we're all dumb kids. Any rifles we use when we're training will be given to us and then taken away when we're done with them. We probably won't be given rifles of our own to take care of until we enter the senior academy at the earliest. Latest will be the Stormtrooper academy.

One the final piece of equipment, a utility belt, was dropped into the box, the droid nimbly closed the flaps and since I was at the back of the line, I was just able to fill in at the line the others were standing in, waiting for me.

The box was reasonably heavy at this point.

"Atten _tion_!" My feet snapped together as a new guy, this one clearly of a higher rank, both looking and sounding distinctly like a Kiwi, walked into the room. "Cadets, I am Taskmaster Pyrus and I've been put in charge of seeing you lot turned into respectable citizens of the Empire. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" The line called out.

"Good," Taskmaster Pyrus, who was clearly an old clone doing his duty for the government he was created to serve, nodded. "Going through the supply line, you had a helmet placed in your box. Is that true?"

"Yes sir!"

"That helmet is your lifeline to the Academy. Through it you will receive orders, direction and correction," Taskmaster Pyrus said, his volume going up with each sentence. "That helmet is now your most prized possession! Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" Now here's the military part I was expecting. Still not as severe, but getting there.

"Taking perfectly good care of that helmet is your duty," Pyrus said, looking over all of us. "You will not allow it to become grungy, dirty, or otherwise unkempt. You will keep it in good repair and you _will_ use it how we tell you too. And if you cause any undue damage to your lifeline to the Academy, either by recklessness or by carelessness, _there will be dire consequences_."

I paid careful attention to the word 'carelessness'. Recklessness was a given, we don't want to do something stupid and break our gear. But 'carelessness', beyond 'don't juggle it while running through the halls' that also means 'keep a close watch on it so other students don't sabotage it and you'. Because there is a point system, one that almost reminded me of Harry Potter, except points were tracked _per student_ instead of _per class_.

"Do you understand?" Pyrus asked.

"Yes sir!"

"Are there any questions?" The aged clone asked us.

Unsurprisingly, no one said anything.

"Come on, don't be shy," Pyrus said. "Surely someone has a question."

When is our progress going to be evaluated? How do you tell if someone is force sensitive? Can you sniff the treachery that's been burning in my soul for a decade?

Calm down.

"Plite!" Pyrus barked, having caught me letting my breath out, coming over to me and bending down to stare me in the eyes. "Do you have a question?"

Be calm, answer evenly. _Don't panic_. "When's the earliest I can sign up for the Storm Trooper corp.?"

"Storm Trooper corp.? You have to graduate the _Junior_ academy before you can even _think_ about becoming a _Storm Trooper_ , Cadet," Pyrus replied, standing up straight, going into harsh lecture. "Then you have to graduate the _Senior_ Academy before you can even _talk_ about becoming a Storm Trooper. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" I'll get there when I get there, basically. The anger and condescension stung quite a bit but developing a thick skin was a part of the military experience. If words hold, combat would _kill_ , no exceptions.

"Good!" Pyrus said. "Now we are going to march back to your barracks on floor 25 and then march back up for Mess Hall. Move out!"

Of course, I was last in line again, and as we marched out, I was able to collect my thoughts, because I just had an idea.

So, the thing about the Force is that it connects all living things. Like this aged Clone Trooper. And I remember vaguely, about a jedi from a game…I think it was called _Knights of the Republic_ , or something? I played a Jedi that could form deep connections with his party members and learn from them. Or from the people s/he fought and killed. It was used mainly as a way to justify the EXP mechanic in-game and it was the most vicious deconstruction of Star Wars that I had ever seen.

The idea I had, was that, well…while I do need to hide my force sensitivity, I do need to use it in other ways. Ways like connecting with others and learning from them. So, I'm thinking that I might try to establish a connection with the old clone. Not a force bond. I do _not_ need a force bond, one of those could actually kill me. But a sort of learning to read minds and learning from them and their experiences.

If I do that, I can both learn what they're trying to teach me at a far greater rate than I would normally and I'd learn what they're looking for in force sensitives. Two birds, one stone. Just make sure I only learn what I _need_ to learn and stay away from his more private moments and thoughts, I should be good.

Because this man has a lot to teach. Everyone in this Academy does. My life might actually depend on accessing this well of knowledge and using it to avoid detection and avoid death.

We got back to the 25th floor and, surprise, surprise, my pack was not exactly where I left it, which meant that it was searched. As ordered, we were all directed to change into the uniform immediately. There was…quite a bit of discomfort from everyone in the room and I had inadvertently taken the lead when I just got dressed without looking at anyone. When I was done, some had still not started to change.

"Come on! Get into uniform, we don't have all day!" Pyrus barked with a glare, sending the more nervous kids into action.

I slid my helmet on and switched it on. There was nothing on the comm channels, but I didn't even get a static feed, which was _really_ nice. After they were all dressed and ready, we were ordered once again into a line and we headed off to Mess.

This brand-new chapter in my life has officially begun.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: So, Jet's now at the academy. Hooray! Let's hope he doesn't get himself killed! What do you guys think his odds are? Next chapter is when we'll meet Jet's classmates properly and get introduced to the curriculum. Well, probably._

 _Will comment on Jet's fortune to get selected for the Royal Academy; that's not something that happens for a lot of people. It is fortunate, but he has been working hard over the past decade because he knows what's coming and what he wants, so he's had extra motivation and drive; hence, he met their standards._

 _Anyway, I've decided that since I love you guys so much, I'm going to start listing my subscribers down here in the Author's notes, because they're awesome and they deserve their credit._

 _Shout-out goes out too_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, John, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Doggi, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Ansopedi, LushWF, Flamester, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, Byron Alexander Willott, keefe owens _and_ Jiopaba. _Thank you, guys and gals, for your continued kindness and generosity, you make it possible for me to write as much as I do._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my at www dot dot com slash_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	3. Tie Fighter

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

The Well is something straight out of a video game.

It starts out like this: The class all stands on a platform and we're lowered into a deep pit. Our goal is to climb out using platforms that come out of the walls, travelling from one end to another. The first three people the come out were declared the winners and got to spend the next week as aids for the Commandant; a pretty cushy job. The losers had to spend the next week being trained by Taskmaster Pyrus, which meant lots and lots of physical and survival training. In the Well itself, dirty play was all but _encouraged_.

My classmates had no problem with this and neither did I, since it made it easy to intentionally lose.

Here's the thing; I want to be a Storm Trooper. Training with Pyrus meant marksmanship training. We were taught how to handle training blasters and sometimes the obstacle courses made us use them to progress. For example, the climbing wall would have all the hand-holds tucked inside the wall until someone hit a target to pop them out.

Being an aide to the Commandant, on the other hand, was more training to be an officer. You got to see the more administrative part of the Academy, being the messenger boys of the Academy, bringing data pads to the officers and generally helping the Academy run like an oiled machine. You _also_ got to ride around in walkers they had around the base.

Granted, we all shared other classes such as history and other academic ventures, just what we did when we weren't all in the same room for an hour or two. I don't think they knew I was losing on purpose, but I _did_ learn something interesting when I lost two in a row.

Only the _best_ of the Senior Academies got to go to the Storm Trooper or Naval academies. Everyone else that graduates the Senior Academies goes straight into the Imperial Military and if I fail to much _this_ year, I won't make it to the Senior Academies at all. Which honestly meant that I had a careful balancing act that I had to follow and I was eventually going to need to get to the point that I was just winning every week. The one who barely beat the Junior academy suddenly starts to ace the Senior Academies like it's nothing? That would look _off_.

To top it off, the idea I had? To use the force to learn more from my instructors? It's going _really_ slowly. I'm not good at it in any sense of the word and I get overwhelmed fairly easily. I can sense when things are coming like I've got a spider-sense, I can tell when one of my classmates wants to try to embarrass me in front of one of the sergeants, but when I try to actually pull information from the teachers with the force? I can't do it for long.

I mean, that just means that I need to keep trying until I can do it to the same level as the Jedi Exile, but that could take a while. The most optimistic picture I can paint is that I'll be good enough at it to get all the mileage I can when I eventually get to the Storm Trooper academy. Though that's just trying to take everything they're trying to teach me at once.

Memories of blasting apart droids while watching your brothers die is something I regularly gleam from Pyrus's mind. Like I said, it's overwhelming.

Maybe I might be able to make it work by also trying to learn from my classmates? I mean, I have some trouble getting to sleep as it is, maybe I can use the extra bedtime hours that I spend awake trying to gleam additional information from their heads.

Invasion of privacy? Maybe. I'm not trying to search their souls for their deepest secrets, but I need practice learning skills and knowledge from others and they provide ample opportunity to do so. During mess, during the short recreational period at the end of each day, the wee hours of the night when I wake up because Noro's started snoring again.

Noro Iliar is a boy in my class. He came into the Academy as a chubby, pale-faced spoiled brat that bemoaned the fact that he got sent to the Academy to us when the instructors weren't around. Apparently, his father is a Moff in the Imperial Army and the Academy was his father's way of drilling weakness out of him. He was a spoiled brat through and through. Though I will say that he's actually started to lose weight since he got here and when the class didn't involve anything physical, he was the top student. Basically, he's a nerd. The most unpleasant variation of nerd they come in, but a nerd none the less.

Also in my class was Parter Cores, the kid I rode with in the shuttle-ride here. He talked a big game about how his Dad was an Administrator here on Coruscant, but he got shut up when Noro and some others started tossing around titles like Moff and Admiral like they were bad things. He still turned his nose up at me, though. All the kids did. No one wanted to associate with the Orphan.

Suited me just fine. The Academy wanted us all to be enemies, anyway. There weren't any gangs that showed up here, everyone was too intelligent and prideful to become a stooge to a school-yard bully. That, and none of them actually feel like their chances are threatened by me because I have intentionally lost _both_ evaluations.

Something that I was proud of was the fact that I have not yet received a disciplinary infraction. They tell me to do something, I do it. Thanks to the force, I don't fall for lies and I don't fall into pranks. I'm here to learn and I plan on succeeding.

* * *

"Cadets, today is a special day today," Taskmaster Pyrus was speaking over our intercom. We were at the bottom of The Well, the walls towering over us. A glowing, white grid showed where the platforms would begin to come out of and enter at the start of the exercise. "The Commandant has authorized a special reward for our evaluation today. Those who win will not only get a work detail under Commandant Deenlark, but you will also get the chance to fly in the cockpit of a Tie-Fighter through the skyways of Coruscant."

Well shoot.

I mean, I was going to win today anyway since I decided I needed a break from Pyrus and I needed to start shoring up my performance in preparation for the Senior Academy, but flying around in a Tie Fighter? The only thing better than _that_ would be a tour of the Millennium Falcon. But to be fair, the only thing that I could think of that would be better than a tour of the Millennium Falcon would be godhood, because I could make my own Millennium Falcon and take all the tours I want.

"Use your training blaster to open and shut the platforms in the well. The first three cadets out of the well will claim the prize, and get the work detail," Pyrus continued. "Those who fail will get to spend the next week with _me_ , doing runs on the obstacle course until your legs collapse under the weight of your bones!"

So, use our blaster both to climb up and to shoot out the platforms from underneath the others. Got it. Usually, the platforms were on the timer, shutting after about a random amount of time. Here? This was pure competition. No RNG crap.

"Begin!"

I raised my blaster, a miniature E-11 that was made to both fit in my hands hand be utterly incapable of doing anything more than low power rounds. Took aim, shot the target dead center and the platform shot out of the wall. I prepared three other platforms to start jumping up.

The cadet directly to my rear was going to try to knock me down. Sadly, I was going to have to take it because I didn't have any other way to learn it besides the force.

Ow! Freak!

In back with the rifle stock. That hurt! A lot!

"Later, garbage rat!" The cadet, my helmet identifying him as 'Saren Lorad' jumped over me and started climbing the stairs. Around me, the other students started climbing. I was the last one up. Honestly, that was preferable, _because_ that meant they were getting higher and were more vulnerable to getting ganked.

Like how I'm about to.

At the bottom, I waited. Each of the other students started to pull each other down by literally any means. None of them hit the floor. It wasn't until they got about half way that I made my move. I brought my little rifle up and started shooting the platforms out from everyone. One shot, one disappeared platform. This would _not_ be a surprise to the instructors, since I had made it a point to work on my marksmanship while I was here.

With startled cries, they fell and with thumps they impacted the floor. None of them would be seriously injured, which I considered a good thing. They're just kids. Kids I barely even care to know, but kids nonetheless.

There were still quite a few platforms up, so I didn't have to do much work myself. Jump, jump, jump. In my old life, this would've killed me. At the very least, it was physically intensive.

Below, the cadets that I had dropped had recovered. The target my platform was connected to took three shots square on and I had to hurriedly jump to the next platform to avoid six more. Two of the ones that were aimed at me ended up hitting the targets to a platform on accident, one of which I was able to use to get higher.

The platform I'm standing on is about to take a hit.

Quickly, I shot the next platform up and hopped up. I looked down and saw the other students were already starting to catch up. Tenacious little buggers, aren't they? I took aim and sent Saren back to the floor.

That's for the hit to the back, you little schutta.

Hop, panicked jump as a platform disappeared underneath me, shoot a target across from me to give me another leg up. I was one platform away. Just one.

Parter's going to grab my ankle.

Move fast, move fast, move-ah _karabast_.

I had grabbed the top ledge and was about to pull myself up. Parter had actually managed to keep up with me and had my left ankle in a death grip and was trying to climb up me in order to get first place.

Oh, _no_ you don't.

Using my remaining foot as leverage, I pulled myself up until my head and shoulders were above the ledge and I swung my right ankle above the ledge. Using my whole body, I pulled myself above the ledge leaving only my left foot down in the well.

Almost. I didn't think it counted until _all_ of me was above the ledge.

Using my other leg as I fulcrum, I rolled over to my side and brought the other leg up. Parter immediately shifted from my ankle to the ledge.

I wasn't having any of that.

"Pull yourself up," I told him, kicking his fingers off the side. I looked over the side and saw that he had landed on his back on a platform some ways down. Petty? Yes. But then, if things had gone wrong and I had slipped, I could've fallen all the way to the bottom and got seriously injured.

That, and I'm not going to be anyone's human ladder. I was going into the Imperial Military, I couldn't let the others think I was someone they could walk all over.

"Congratulations, Cadet Plite," Taskmaster Pyrus said as I pulled myself up to stand at attention. "You're first place."

"Thank you, sir," I said with a salute.

"I hope you'll continue this level of performance in the year to come," Pyrus said with a nod. "If you keep it up, you'll be a shoe-in for the Storm Trooper Corp."

"Thank you, sir."

I liked Taskmaster Pyrus. He was tough, overbearing and unerringly strict, but he was honestly trying to prepare those of us who went into the military so we wouldn't _kill_ ourselves. The times I spent trying to learn from his mind, I occasionally got flashes back to the clone wars. One particularly vivid memory that made me wince was when he followed Order 66.

It was vivid because he remembered the anger he had for the Jedi Master, a rodian with a blue lightsaber. But buried underneath the anger was confusion. Almost like he didn't know _why_ he felt the way he did, but that he did.

I had a mix of emotions whenever I caught that memory. On the one hand, I was proud of myself for getting better at probing minds. On the other hand, I was wondering if, since I found the memory so often, if he suspected me of being force sensitive.

But until I start seeing images of _me_ associated with that memory, I'll just keep being cautious instead of panicking.

The next person out of the Well was Soren. Of course. Sadly, his kind of foul play was both common and encouraged here. Pretty good preparation of what I can expect when I graduate, but it's still annoying.

Pyrus congratulated him, naturally and we ended up standing on opposite sides. Parter was actually the next cadet out of the well, which I shouldn't be surprised about. I am, but I shouldn't be. He caught up to me, after all and I was trying to _win_.

Now that all three winners had been declared, and I waited to see if the Task Master would declare the test over. He didn't. Most of the time, he would, but sometimes he would wait until everyone had fought their way out, presumably to get a good gage of where they're at in their studies.

The last Cadet, named Piers Ryloss, finally climbed out and we got ordered to file up.

"The winners of this evaluation are Jethro Plite, Saren Lorad and Parter Cores," Pyrus declared. "Their Tie-Fighter flight tour will begin in one hour and they'll have their work detail for the next week. The rest of you! We'll be spending lots of quality time together."

* * *

"Now hang on to something," The Pilot who was giving us this flyby was named Orson Carde. Each of us were sat down in what I assume to be a custom-fit Tie that had three extra seats for us. "First take off can be…jarring."

With that, he turned on the power and the fighter rose up almost immediately. I ended up grabbing the bar on the back of his chair immediately. And the fighter started to turn.

Right.

I'm afraid of heights.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now with all the training sessions in the well and the shuttle rides but _no_. No, I'm not used to it. Not at all.

I watched the fighter slowly start move through the hanger, until he had exited, and then he started to accelerate.

"Cool," Parter said with wide eyes.

Okay. Alright. I'm not going to die. I'm in a star fighter, we're actually flying. It's just that I can see where we're going this time. Alright. I can calm down.

Calm down.

Okay.

I am calm.

…wow, Coruscant actually looks _really_ cool when you're flying through it like this.

"Can you shoot one of the speeders out of the air?" Parter had _stars_ in his eyes, utterly enamored by the fact that he was flying. Oh, he might go into the Imperial Navy now. Maybe that's what he wanted to do already, but I could feel the desire solidifying in his heart.

Carde, to his credit, chortled. "No, I can't. As fun as you might think it would be, those are Imperial citizens and this is the Empire. Firing on them is like firing on you. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Parter replied, chastised.

"Good," Carde nodded. "Now, this Tie's blasters have actually been disconnected for repairs. But if I did want to use them, I would-"

The fact that he was teaching us how to actually fly a Tie fighter was really cool, but there was something else I found interesting. Carde here has a conscience and the Imperial War Machine has rules.

Not everyone in the Empire is bad.

Intellectually, I knew that, but it's nice to actually see it. Especially since my focus has been on Darth Vader and the Emperor. Darth Vader is first because he is on every single piece of media attached to the Storm Trooper corp. All of them. I can't look at a recruitment poster without Darth Vader being a presence of some kind. It's both annoying and disheartening.

We never joined any of the skylanes, instead flying above and over them; we were an imperial starfighter, offroad-ing is something we could do and the view, once I calmed down from the initial shock of being so high up, was awesome. It was one thing to be looking at it from the walkways, but a completely different thing to be looking at it from the view of a Tie fighter.

It's a Tie Fighter. It's awesome.

* * *

Work detail with Deenlark was a new experience. We started the day with a lecture about the officer structure and ranks in the Imperial war machine and what they had to do to _obtain_ those ranks. From what I could gather, there was a lot of time spent and political maneuvering to get to the ranks for Moff and Admiral. Suited me just fine, actually. People at the top tended to get force choked for mouthing off to Vader.

Not that I'd ever be that dumb, but you know. Keep me as far away from that sad, broken man with anger issues as is possible.

After the lecture, we basically got put into our job as...lets be honest. We were desk jockeys and mail boys. I found it incredibly easy to use the terminals to do what needed to be done, mostly just compiling reports from each of the individual arms of the Academy and putting them on a datapad for hand delivery to each commanding officer.

The only class we went to while on the work-detail was the one in the afternoon, and that varied depending on the day. My personal favorite was Imperial History, which was so blatantly propaganda that I took notes that I could laugh at later. My personal favorite was how the Jedi were a religion of warmongering zealots who deliberately sabotaged the Republic so they'd be needed.

No, I did _not_ burst out laughing in the middle of class. I saved that for when I was in the bathroom and there was no one there. I think Sergeant Clareb _knew_ it was all garbage too, but that's just something I was picking up with the force. She had to know, since it all happened ten years ago and she was at least in her early thirties.

I think things started to change, though, when Parter came up to me near the end of the week.

"So, uh…" I turned in my chair to see him leaning against the wall. "Jethro, right?"

"That's my name," I replied with a nod. "What's up?"

"I uh…just was wondering," Parter said, looking to the side and up. "How did you say you got into the academy?"

"Pure luck," I replied with a nod. "I think I had higher than average scores, but I honestly thought I was going to Lothal."

"I see," Parter looked over his shoulder. "So, uh…"

"What can I do for you, Parter?" I pressed.

"Well, I was mainly wondering…how _did_ you get to be so good?" Parter asked, again, looking around to make sure no one could hear him. "The first couple of weeks, I thought you wouldn't amount to anything…sorry, I didn't mean it the way it sounded-"

"Don't worry about it," I told him. "I wanted to be a Storm Trooper since I was three. The nanny droids I lived with pulled up the requirements to help me get there and I stuck with the exercise and study they recommended. Then I got here."

"Huh," Parter looked thoughtful for a moment. "So…you've been preparing since you were a toddler. I didn't get started until I was eight."

"Why do you ask?" I raised my eyebrow.

"Well, I…look, I'm the son of an Administrator here on Coruscant," Parter started, still looking worriedly around the room. "I thought that was incredible, until I met Noro and the others who are so socially superior that I can't even look at them."

"I fail to see what that has to do with me," I cut in. "Get to the point."

"Look, you're on your way to the Storm Trooper corp. I've decided that instead of going to COMPnor's SAG and leveraging my experience into becoming an Administrator like my Father…I want to become a pilot," Parter finally confessed. "I want to join the Imperial Navy, become a pilot, maybe work my way up to commanding a Star Destroyer. But the Imperial Navy only takes the best and I don't know how to get there from where I'm at."

"You're doing fine so far," I replied with a shrug. "You kept up with me."

"Forget what happened in The Well!" Parter hissed. "Your grades are better than mine! And you're an orphan! I…just wanted to see if we could help each other."

"Help each other," I repeated with a frown.

"Yes, I…look, I have connections through my father," Parter said with a frown. "I could get you adopted so you didn't have to go back to the Orphanage come winter break. Maybe. I'd have to talk with Dad but…"

"Stop, stop," I held a hand up. Getting adopted was something I did _not_ want, actually. "Look, I'll let you in on a secret; I lost the first two evaluations on purpose."

"You did _what_?" Parter looked utterly aghast. "Why would you do that?"

"Taskmaster Pyrus has a lot to teach," I shrugged. "He was a Clone Trooper in the Wars. I figured it would be better for my career in the long run if I deliberately spent some extra time with him."

"You…okay, so you did," Parter put his hand up and mimed pushing the issue to the side. "What does that have to do with me?"

"The way to success is forcing yourself to do things you don't want to do," I replied, leaning back in my chair. "What's something you don't _want_ to do but would increase your odds of actually making it to the Imperial Navy?"

"…I could practice my maths more," Parter offered.

You'd think you wouldn't need math for flying anything. Turns out, it's the most important skill you could have, since interpreting numbers and what they mean is _really_ important since you need to be able adjust systems on the fly and do so with precision.

"That could work," I nodded. "Are you struggling with that class?"

"Yes," Parter quietly answered.

"Alright. There's your first objective," I replied. "Really, getting better grades is a matter of working on the subject in question until you've studied ahead and have it down."

"Right, yeah," Parter said with a frown.

"Something stopping you from actually working on the subject?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't really have _time_ ," Parter said. "I mean, with the Instructors, the classes…we get so little free time as it is. This isn't outside the academy where we get all the free time we can ask for to study what we need."

"You're right, time can be a bit of an issue," I replied. Time was at a premium here in the Academy. "Trust me, I understand that. But if I may…you really shouldn't be talking with the other kids during study time."

Passing notes was a pastime during study hall. We usually had an Ensign or two watch over us while we were supposed to be studying, but if you wanted to pass notes, you could because the Ensign was usually bored and thus not paying as close attention as he could've. Or he didn't care.

Parter blinked. "I'm establishing diplomatic connections with the others."

"Ask yourself this; do you want to pass notes with kids who may or may not be willing to stick up for you, or do you want to be working toward a post in the Imperial Navy?" I told the kid with a frown. "What's your answer?"

"Well, I want to work toward the Navy, but…" Parter sighed. "I don't want to makes things unnecessarily difficult for myself."

"Understandable," I nodded. "Understandable. But remember, we're only here in the Junior Academy for a year. You want to spend it getting dragged down by the other Cadets who are gossiping like old hutts, or are you going to join the Imperial Navy?"

Parter let out a breath.

"Another thing to consider; the sooner you start, the easier it is," I told him, leaning forward. "Alright? Now, what exactly did you _want_ me to do when you came up to talk to me?"

"I…I don't know," Parter replied. "I was just hoping you could help."

"I'm not a tutor, Parter," I frowned. "And the Academy discourages any kind of teamwork. I'm sorry I can't tell you more than 'suck it up and work on it' but…that's what I got."

"Saren doesn't work as hard as you're telling me," Parter squinted.

"Saren doesn't matter to you," I waved it off. "Saren is _irrelevant_ to you. He doesn't matter at all in the larger scheme that is you joining the Imperial Navy. All that matters is the Navy, you and what you need to do to get inside the Navy. Simple. Just like you don't matter at all in the larger scheme of me joining the Storm Trooper corp. Make sense?"

"I guess," Parter frowned.

"Cadets," Sergeant Oliyo was an officer that was taller than both of us, but not by much. Her black hair was tied into a bun and her hands were held behind her back and she raised a _very_ critical eyebrow at us. "I assume your duties have been attended too."

"Yes ma'am, both of ours," I replied with a nod, standing immediately to attention. _My_ duties, at least were taken care of. I hope Parter was smart enough to make sure everything was taken care of before he came and saw me. "We were just discussing our studies."

"I see," Oliyo replied with a nod. "Well, continue the good work. Cadet Cores, I recommend going back to your post momentarily. Cadet Plite, there will be a new stack of reports for you to compile to take to your assigned officers."

"Yes ma'am," Parter saluted, turned on his heel and left.

"Understood, Ma'am," I also saluted and when she turned to leave, I sat back down and got ready to gain the reports. What sort of disciplinary crazy had to be reported for my enjoyment?

…you know what the only thing that bugs me about this is?

That the terminals aren't hooked up together. The Holonet _proves_ that it can be done. In fact, it should be done. The only reason that I can _think_ of that it's not hooked up is specifically so we can be their mail boys.

Oh. Just answered my own question. Alright then.

Alright, I've been here for almost three weeks and I've already started to be taught how to shoot a blaster, some 'history' and given physical training. Honestly, as far as progress goes, it's great! As far as personal comforts go, it sucks completely.

Worst case scenario?

Sheev Palpatine sometimes visits the Academy.

If that happens, I'm a dead man. Kid. I'm a dead thing. I'm dead, that's what's important here. I need to start working on what I'm going to _do_ if he decides to visit the Academy. First off, what will even happen? He will likely be giving a speech, followed by a tour of all the classes.

Given the sheer number of classes, it was actually unlikely that he'd be taken to visit mine, but I _would_ be present for the speech and I can only assume that he can sniff out the slightest whiff of betrayal and then crush it in a storm of lightning and maniacal laughter.

What can I do?

I remember someone from the Yuuzhan Vong war. Her name was Vergere, and she was _just_ as difficult to detect with the force as the Vong war. And she did this through a technique she called 'Making herself small'. It was literally being able to dodge and evade with her presence in the force, I assume by shrinking her presence in the force.

Figuring out how to do that will let me coast through the Imperial Training programs without fear of detection, for the most part and will come in real handy in fighting Vader and Palpatine when it comes time to rebel.

The question is where do I even start when developing that technique? The most I can do right now is sense things at the edge of my mind. I guess becoming…self-aware in regards to my presence is my first step. After that, manipulating the waves I make, if I've come that far.

Hopefully I can get it to work before Palpatine decides to pay the academy a visit.

…so much to do.

So much to do.

* * *

 _Authors Notes: Inspiration struck. I think Parter is going to be an interesting character, at the very least._

 _Shout out goes out to_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, John, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Doggi, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Ansopedi, LushWF, Flamester, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, Byron Alexander Willott, keefe owens, _and_ Jiopaba. _Thank you, guys. You are the best and make writing these a possibility._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	4. Evaluations

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

"It's free time, do whatever you want," I told him.

"But you said not to let them drag me down," Parter replied with an uncomfortable look.

It had been a couple of days since our little chat. Parter had made a point to study as hard as he could during study hour. However, he took it just a bit too far and started to avoid the other kids during _free time_ as well, which wouldn't do well. Because that meant he was starting to hang around _me_.

"Letting them drag you down is talking to them during study hour and not doing anything productive," I explained with a sigh. I guess I laid it on a little thick during my speech to him. Enough that he missed the context, at least. "Talking to them and making connections during free time is just socializing."

"If that's the case, why don't you socialize?" Parter asked, a little accusatory.

"Orphan and no one likes me," I answered with a nod. "I'm totally okay with both facts."

Mostly, I was talking to him right now because I wanted him to stop hanging around me. If I actually got to know some of the people here, it'd make it difficult to defect later. Not impossible, given that I doubt I'd ever truly be comfortable in the Empire's rankings with all the wanton evil in their ranks, but difficult.

But, you know, if a government is generally evil, not serving its citizenry and all peaceful avenues of change have failed, armed revolt is really the only moral choice.

"Well, they don't like me either," Parter replied with a frown. "I annoyed them by brushing them off during study hour."

"And so, you decided to just hang around me instead?" I asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"I was hoping we could be friends," Parter glared at me, his dark black

See, this is what I get for trying to act like a semi-decent human being in a school built by the forces of evil. I get an annoying hanger on that's trying to make it harder, in the long run, to turn on the Empire. I'm trying to finish my holo-novel, honestly.

Well, it's really just a novel, but on hologram. Really fancy way of reading on a tablet or computer.

"Okay," This is a bad idea. "Alright. Well. I'm guessing you've looked more into requirements to get into the Navy."

"I did," Parter replied with a happy nod. "The main thing they look into for pilots is how well they do in flight simulations."

"We don't do those until the senior academies, right?" I asked. I had looked into it of course. We didn't get to use flight simulators until we reached the senior academies.

"Yes, and I can't wait. It's going to be amazing, learning how to fly TIE Fighers, shooting down pirates and blowing them to cinders." Parter was smiling. "…what made you want to join the Storm Troopers?"

Huh. The classist is asking the orphan about him. Alright. "I don't know. I was an orphan. When I was little, I saw Storm Troopers and thought they looked amazing. My nanny bots showed me how to get there and I stuck with it."

I was certainly not telling him I joined so they could train me to be one of their fiercest enemies. Seriously, if I ever have to say 'For the Empire' or any variation, it's going to be sarcastically. Even if it's only sarcastic in my own head.

"That's very impressive," Parter said, taking one of the chairs beside me.

"Thank you," I replied.

The recreation room was every cadet's favorite place in the entire academy. It was a square room with chairs lining the walls, arcade machines and card tables taking up the room. Some of the other kids were playing Pazaak, a game I could not believe had survived four thousand years of the galaxy moving and shaping. Betting Imperial credits was completely against the school rules, but the other kids had probably managed to figure out a way around security.

I wanted to play, but I didn't gamble. That, and I didn't want to get busted by the other kids for 'cheating' because I would use the force because I didn't want to lose my money. Seriously, getting thrown out of the academy or facing disciplinary action would actually be bad. Not to mention the risk of having my unexplained luck being identified as affinity to the force and then being disappeared to be trained as a Sith.

That is not something I would be able to recover from.

"So, have you told your parents about how you want to join the Navy?" I asked him, breaking the silence.

Parter waited for a moment before answering. "Not yet. Mom really wanted me to become an administrator, though. I'm not sure what she'll think."

"And your Dad?"

"I don't know what he'll think," Parter responded, looking off to the side. "He's busy. I don't see him much."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I told him diplomatically. "Must be rough."

"Yeah, it is," Parter replied with a despondent expression. "…probably not as bad as being an orphan, though, huh?"

You'd be surprised. "Honestly, I've got a lot of freedom and the nanny droids were always supportive of everything I did, so it's not that bad."

I loved my parents from my old life, don't get me wrong, but being an orphan granted a surprising amount of autonomy. I liked it.

"I guess you'd think that, huh?" Parter asked with a frown. "Not many parents would want their kids to become Storm Troopers, huh?"

"Probably not," I said with a nod. "At least I think so, I wouldn't know."

Still a little sad, actually. Thinking about it. The possibility that the ROB (It was unlikely she was _actually_ omnipotent, but she was likely close enough) had something to do with my death had occurred to me occasionally, but there was very little I could do about it other than get over it. Which I was.

For the most part.

* * *

With a heave, I climbed out of The Well. This was the first time in three weeks since my victory in the well that I was able to climb out within the top ten, let alone in third place. I knew that my trick where I sent the rest of the class to the floor, dazed and confused, would not be forgotten, but at least now they were learning that they had to fight the rest of them too.

The first week I ended up in last place because the other cadets stood at the topmost level of the well and peppered me with blaster bolts so I couldn't leave. It was maddening, but…instructional. At the very least, I learned of the importance of good cover.

"Congratulations, Cadet Plite," Pyrus announced. "You're in third place. The work detail is yours."

No special reward this time, but that's okay. I was ready for a break from Pyrus's training regimen.

The other cadets who made it to the top was Saren, of course, and Tesk Olivar, one of the other students.

"I'm shocked to see you pull yourself out of the bottom of the trash heap, Garbage Rat," Saren whispered condescendingly as I took my spot in the line. "I thought playing dirty was all you could do."

I didn't say anything. No point.

Saren Lorad, the jerk who put a rifle stock in my back and decided to earn his hypocrisy badge today, was the class's top student. His Dad was apparently a high-ranking officer in the Imperial Army and he had been prepared extensively for the military life. His aim was as close to perfect as possible, he could run for days and he was a favorite for graduation.

He was also a bully and I refused to give him any satisfaction by taking him seriously. That was the part that drove him nuts, that I refused to rise to his bait. In the force, he was like a ringing comm unit while everyone else was on vibrate, which made it easy to avoid him and his pranks, which I guessed meant that he was a force sensitive.

I had taken the opportunity of having a force sensitive bully to practice that 'Making myself Small' technique I had heard about. I think it's working slightly, but I'm not sure. It's practice, at least. Like scanning minds for skills, I have made some progress; I'm not accidentally picking up declarative memories (Pyrus's flashbacks) anymore, so now I'm only getting his Procedural memory (how to hold and shoot a blaster). It's just still slow.

Ideally, what would happen is that I'd be able to download a person's skills from their brain like I was in the Matrix. Close my eyes for a few minutes and then know how to fly a starfighter. From how it's going, I'm starting to think that mapping my performance after someone else's might actually be a waste of time. At least until I get some proper education in force techniques.

I mean, I'm going to keep working on it, but I'm pretty sure there's something that I'm missing.

One by one, the other cadets began to pull themselves out of the Well. The last one, this time, was Parter. I assume it's because he got knocked some ways down because I thought he was making good progress up. Very sad. But then, since places one through three are the only ones that truly matter in the evaluation, it's not hard to imagine that a bit of a fight between salty cadets may have taken place down there. It's happened before.

Step just an inch backward, dodge the elbow from Saren. Step forward.

"Something wrong, Cadet Lorad?" Pyrus turned and asked at the sound of Saren regaining his balance.

"No sir," Saren said, snapping to attention.

"Get back in formation," Pyrus ordered. "Both of you."

"Yes sir," We said in unison.

This is going to be a very long year. It's already been a long couple of months. As long as I have the force to tell me where he's at then at least it won't be an overly paranoid year. Just mostly paranoid. But the best way to keep from revealing yourself is keeping yourself calm and _that_ was the first trick I learned.

After this, then the Senior Academy curriculum, then Storm Trooper Corps. Very simple. Once I get into the Storm Trooper Corps, I'll be an officer. Second Lieutenant most likely. When I'm not wearing the armor, I'll be wearing a black uniform. What I really want to do is become a Space Trooper, since they're the ones that get Jet Packs.

…I just realized that I want to use a jetpack, but I'm afraid of heights.

I'm gonna have to get over that.

"Evaluations over," Pyrus called out. "Lorad, Olivar and Plite are this week's winners of Deenlark's work detail. The rest of you will be spending the week with me since you _clearly_ love the obstacle course as to lose!"

What are my odds of getting nabbed by the imperials secret force-training program? I've only won two out of seven, so not likely. Unless they heard my conversation about losing the first two on purpose. Which they might've.

Karabast.

"All of you to your posts!" Pyrus ordered. "Move out!"

Now that I think about it, they're probably called inquisitors. At least I think it would make sense. Inquisitors were a thing in The Old Republic MMO and nothing in Star Wars _really_ comes from nowhere.

Saren, Tesk and I immediately marched for the administrative wing of the building. No one was interested in trying anything, due to the security cameras and the officers sure to catch anyone that started fighting and it _would_ be a fight. This is an academy for the _Empire_. I'm training to become one of their attack dogs. A good sight less loyal than most, but still.

* * *

"So that's how the past few months have been, M7," I told my nanny-droid. "It's tough, but it'll be worth it. Eventually."

"I hope it is," M7 replied. "It sounds positively dreadful."

The months had passed and it was now winter break. Parter had offered to let me stay at his home, but I had refused. He _acted_ disappointed, but he was fairly happy I had refused, since I doubt he had told his parents about me. You know. Orphan. Would he even count as a friend? I mean, we hung out during free period, I guess. Maybe it's more of a casual thing.

"It's got its ups and downs," I shrugged. I was getting used to it, too. That was the important part. That meant that I was growing as a person. My tolerance for the unpleasant was increasing. What was the old saying? 'Pain is weakness leaving the body'? Yeah, that's it. "But I am ready for the break."

"Well, I'm glad you made it through safely," M7 replied. "I insist that you spend the next two weeks relaxing."

She had come to pick me up from the shuttle bay. I'm shocked she still remembered me, but I guess the memory wipes don't happen very often to allow the nanny droids to remember what each child needs, maybe? "I'll certainly try."

We boarded a public speeder and sat at the first row. My things were in the case by the bench. The biggest thing I have to be afraid of right now is boredom. Right? Right.

Probably.

The speeder rose up and I watched as the ground disappeared beneath us. This…wasn't so bad. It was like riding a bus. A Tie Fighter that jerks up immediately startled me. But I can get used to that too. A jetpack? That's going to be a whole 'nother nest of mynocks.

…I love how I've assimilated enough that I'm using the local vernacular. Nest of mynocks instead of ballgame. Honestly, I'm in Star Wars. Of all the places to be reincarnated too? This one's the best possible one. At least I think so.

Because _Star Wars_.

"Will you need my help with anything when we get back, M7?" I asked, turning my attention to her.

"Oh!" She turned toward me, her glowing eyes seeming unusually bright. "No, I assure you, I'll have everything taken care of."

"You sound surprised," I told her.

"Well, it's just that no one's really asked me if I needed help," She replied, laying a metal hand on my leg. "I do appreciate it."

"I just wanted to do something useful while I was away from the Academy," I replied with a shrug. "If you need anything, let me know."

"I'll be sure to do that," M7 replied.

The ride back was comfortable silence between the two of us. The hum of the engines undercut all the sounds of conversation inside the shuttle. I watched as the impossibly tall buildings floated past us, the speeders and shuttles ahead and behind us. We got passed by a particularly impatient speeder, but I could actually feel that his need was urgent. Not exactly sure _what_ it was, but…it was urgent.

Besides, it's not like _I'm_ flying this thing. It's a droid. A masterful stroke of genius that probably eliminated a lot of road-rage…lane-rage? I don't know.

Eventually, the peaceful speeder ride came to a stop and it parked before the orphanage.

"M7, may I ask a question?" I…well, asked.

"You certainly may," She said as we stood up. I picked the bag up.

"How did my parents die?" I asked.

Now, I knew for a fact that I was planted here by a ROB. Whether I was created out of whole cloth or if there was a backstory that was fabricated for my sake was what I was curious about.

"I am afraid I do not know," M7 replied. She stepped off of the shuttle, allowing me to leave. "We can check once we're inside the orphanage and I have access to the database."

"I'd appreciate that," I replied with a nod. This was little more than idle curiosity, honestly. Just how deep did the rabbit hole go?

The inside was exactly how I remembered it. I even had the same room since I technically lived here still. I had the option to live on the Academy grounds over the break, but…I needed out of there. The paranoia of being outed as force sensitive was something I needed a _real_ break. When I learned, after a talk with M7 over the comms that I could come back for the break, words could not have expressed my joy. I threw my pack onto the bed and sat down.

Tension like I had never known before left by body with a long, shuddery breath that shook my entire body.

It was good to be home. I'm going to _love_ having my break. It's going to be the best thing that's happened to me since blaster training. Just a chance to sit down and reeeeelax.

Ahhhh…

…let's go find M-Sev-NO! No. No, no, no. Bad Jet. _Bad_.

I'm relaxing first. Let it all out.

I laid down on the bed and closed my eyes.

Time to meditate. Let the force flow through me, let's make myself calm. _Relax_.

The cool feeling of nervous tension leaving as I dipped into the force was pure bliss. Absolute satisfaction as the fear and paranoia that I had managed to keep in check was departing my _soul_ and it was enough to bring a tear to my eye.

Just chill, Jet. You deserve this.

M7's approaching my bedroom.

I sat up before she arrived and activated the doorbell.

"Coming," I called, moving my back off my bed before going to answer the door.

It slid open, revealing M7. "Hello, Jet. I just checked the orphanage's records."

"What'd you find?" I asked, wiping my eye.

"Well," She seemed hesitant. "You were given to the orphanage by a woman who wished to remain anonymous. Evidently, your parents were unable to provide for your needs."

ROB, whoever you are? You're a genius. That's _perfect_.

"Are you crying?" M7 asked, sounding a little distressed. "You are! I'm so sorry, Jethro. I wish I had a better answer for you."

"What? No, no," I assured her. "I'm fine."

"I know what will make it better," M7 said, turning around and sounding cheerful. "A healthy lunch! Come to the kitchen, I'll make you a snack."

"I promise I'm-" I began, but she was already gone off to make me a sandwich.

I sighed and followed after her.

"Thanks, Mom."

* * *

The break was _exactly_ what I needed. In fact, it was so nice that I actually dreaded going to the academy again. And not in the 'I don't wanna work hard anymore' but in the 'I could actually die when I get back' sort of way.

When we got back, we all got pulled for _Academic Evaluation_. It's always an evaluation. Not a test, oh no. We just look at your every move and decide if you're the ruthless attack dog we want in our organization. Which means that I need to find out how to _show_ them that I am the ruthless attack dog they want in their organization without actually being the ruthless attack dog they want in their organization.

I mean, I'm okay with the 'attack' and 'dog' parts, it's just the ruthless part we're going to take issue with; I'm going to maintain my scruples. If I just become another Imperial, then the spirit of why I entered the academy is dead.

We all sat down in the lobby in front of Taskmaster Pyrus's office. Loro sat across from me, trying not to fall asleep. The guy had lost weight during his time in the academy and to his credit, he's kept it off. He was still chubby, but he wasn't at the fourth level of fatness anymore. Maybe the military is going to be good for him.

Beside me was Parter. Our reunion had actually been happy, though he seemed a little reserved. Maybe he told his parents about me after all and got negative responses? It seems likely. But he sat beside me, nonetheless.

The only person who wasn't here waiting with us was Saren, who got pulled away for evaluations with the Commandant himself. He looked so smug as the Commandant personally escorted him and a few other kids off to his office. On one hand, that's one less day I need to deal with him. On the other hand? He was force sensitive.

I could never see him again.

Don't get me wrong. He was a jerk. A bully and a coward. But I wouldn't wish Sith training on him. Or anyone. He could easily die or become one of the Emperor's stooges: drunk on the dark side and almost incapable of showing genuine kindness or empathy.

"Cadet Plite?" Pyrus had opened the door, allowing Kesh out of his office.

"Sir," I stood up.

He waved me in and I moved inside.

His office was small, but well lit. A desk, a big chair on his side and a small one on mine. Potted plants with purple bulbs. Behind Pyrus's chair was an open window out to the Coruscanti skyline, showing the Imperial Palace.

Imagine my delight when I learned that I had guessed right: The palace was built on the ruins of the Jedi Temple.

"Remove your helmet and have a seat, Cadet," Pyrus motioned for me to sit and I sat.

"Yes sir," I replied, sitting down and taking my helmet off, resting it in my lap.

"First off, how was your break?" Pyrus asked gruffly.

"As relaxing as I was hoping it would be," I answered. "Sir."

"Good," Pyrus nodded. "I'm glad. Now, answer me this; do you still want to become a Storm Trooper?"

"Yes, sir," I replied with a nod.

"Why do you want to join the corps?" Pyrus asked.

I took a breath. "I wish to protect the people of the Empire by killing their enemies."

From a certain point of view, this was the truth. The enemy of the people was the Emperor and I wanted to kill him all kinds of dead.

"Very noble," Pyrus replied with a nod. "Very noble. Any other reason?"

"I also want to see the galaxy and meet beautiful zeltron women," This was the _other_ reason I had prepared, to be muttered quietly and bashfully while looking to the side. Makes me look like any other teenage boy.

Masterfully, Pyrus managed to stifle the laughter that had threatened to burst through his mouth. "I see. That's a very…honest statement, Plite."

He brought up two data-pads and passed one to me. "Here's a summary of your academic performance while you've been here at the Academy."

I looked at the pad.

"First and foremost, let's look at your combat evaluations," Pyrus said, and I brought up the appropriate spreadsheet. "This says you've placed in the top three thirteen out of twenty-four evaluations and of thirteen, two of those were in first place."

The first one was with my dirty trick. The second one was a hard-earned work of effort to spite Saren and send him to the bottom. I had succeeded. He was being insufferable the whole week.

"I'll be honest," Pyrus said, looking at me with a slow nod. "In this school, an over fifty percent success rate is nothing to sneeze at. It's not bad. Actually, it's very good. But before I continue, I must ask you."

He leaned closer, affixing me with a cold glare that very nearly sent shivers to play my spine like a xylophone. "Did you throw any of your evaluations?"

It really was best to be honest in this case. I might get expelled, but if he's asking me about this, he already knows. No point in delaying the inevitable. "Yes sir."

"Which ones?" He frowned.

"Just the first two, sir," I answered with a nod. "I tried to win each one afterwards."

"I see," Pyrus replied. "Why?"

"Because I want to be a Storm Trooper," I explained. "Running the obstacle courses with you seemed more conducive to that goal than being a desk jockey for most of my time here."

Pyrus hummed, nodding slowly. "I appreciate your honesty. Sergeant Oliyo had informed me of a conversation she overheard between you and Parter."

"Am I going to be expelled, sir?" I asked with a frown.

"No, Cadet," Pyrus shook his head. "But Commandant Deenlark wanted me to make sure you understood the point of the work assignment with him. You see, Cadet, the students that go through this Academy are not going to simply be grunts, or foot soldiers. You're training to be officers in the Imperial War Machine, the greatest organization in the entire Galaxy. That means you _must_ know how to file reports, collate data and work with bureaucracy."

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"These are given as a reward because those who consistently defeat the other students in the evaluation are clearly in no need of additional physical training," Pyrus continued with a stern look. "They're strong, fast and smart enough to win without additional physical training. So, they obtain training on how to be a proper leader and to oil the cogs properly. This is essential because if you're in the field and you need to requisition additional supplies for your men, you need to understand not only how to do that, but how to make sure your request goes through in a timely manner. Do you understand, Cadet?"

"Permission to ask a question, sir," I answered.

"Ask it, Cadet," Pyrus replied.

"Am I to understand that those who may succeed one evaluation but fail the next one were unsuccessful in maintaining their lead?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "Sir?"

"You can take it to mean that, and it is true," Pyrus nodded. "But honestly, every cadet needs to understand how to work in the bureaucracy and the evaluation helps us sort out who does or does not need physical training. That's why those who have an unacceptably low win-rate fail the academy, we don't need officers that don't understand the importance of following proper channels. Any other questions, Cadet?"

"No, sir," I shook my head. "I understand, sir."

"Very good," Pyrus said. "Now, going back to your evaluation scores. A fifty-four percent win rate is unacceptable for what you want to be."

"Sir?" I asked. Oh _no_. That's not good.

"Are you aware that the Storm Trooper corp. only takes the very best to be officers?" Pyrus asked me in turn.

"Yes sir," I nodded.

"According to the academic statistics that I've been provided," Pyrus said, looking at his data pad. "Those recruits with a seventy-one percent or more win-rate are the most likely to be recruited into the corps. The lowest recruit had a sixty-five percent win-rate. You fall short by over ten percentage points. In order to fall into that seventy-one percent range, you will need to win 19 more evaluations over the next five months. That allows you _one_ loss."

"Yes sir," I nodded. Crap.

"Now don't get me wrong, Cadet," Pyrus said. "Everything else is acceptable. Your grades fall within the ninty-percentage, you have the aim, the smarts and the talent. You just need to _win_."

"Sir? Permission to ask another question," I requested.

"Ask it," Pyrus replied.

"Does the corp. really check on the evaluations done in the academy, sir?" I asked with a frown. "I was under the impression that if you graduated with top marks in the senior academy, the corp. would take you. Sir."

"They do," Pyrus affirmed. "And those who graduate with top marks in the senior academy have around a seventy-one percent win-rate. Do you understand, Cadet?"

"Yes sir," Statistics. I wish I knew them _before_ I came to the Academy. Now the crunch is on.

"Very good, Cadet," He nodded. "Now, as it turns out, I like you, Cadet. You've got a fire in you. A nobility and drive that I haven't seen in a long time. So, I'm going to help you become the Storm Trooper that you've always wanted to be."

"Sir?"

"By giving you the most intense and productive training as possible," Pyrus continued with a nod, looking at me to check my reaction. "I can't give you extra training, I've only got so many hours in the day. But I can make sure that the training you do get is as productive as possible. Do you understand, Cadet?"

Hearing that your drill instructor, essentially, is going to single you out during the day for more intense training is normally the end of days. Don't get me wrong, it's that for me too, but it's also a light of hope for my dreams. "Yes sir."

"Very good," Pyrus grinned. "Very good, Cadet. I wish you luck. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, standing and putting my helmet back on.

He stood up behind me and Taskmaster Pyrus opened the door. I moved forward to sit down.

"Cadet Cores!" Pyrus called, causing Parter to jerk straight up to attention. He moved past me.

"Good luck," I whispered as I passed him on the way to my seat.

I sat down and leaned forward, interlocking my fingers and sighed.

Nineteen more wins? When I'm fighting these animals for supremacy?

I'm going to need to up my game, start using the force a bit more and pray that I don't get discovered. Seventy-one percent, though? Why couldn't it have been a nice, easy to read number like fifty percent? It would line up with what we see in the movies with the troopers who can't aim for anything.

But then again, I _do_ have another…eleven years, I think it was? Eleven years for training standards to fall significantly.

I might be just in time to avoid the Empire turning into even more of a quantity over quality machine.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: I'm taking it nice and easy with this story. No rough stuff. No shocking, planned out, surprise twists or anything. Just writing what comes. That seems to work the best._

 _Shout out goes out too_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, John, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Flamester, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, _and_ Jiopaba. _I thank you for your continued support._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _~Fulcon_


	5. Considerations of Danger

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

From my spot, half-way up the well, I took aim. Blaster bolts were flying around like I was in the center of a hurricane and I was grateful that I wasn't the only target. Up ahead of me, Loro, the chubby chub who was chubby no more, as about to climb out of the well. He'd be the first, and given that he had managed to get a lot of us, me included, in a surprise attack from the bottom that sent all of us straight to the bottom.

Turn-about is fair play, but it just left me feeling ticked off.

I squeezed the trigger, sending Loro's platform back into the wall and sending him down to the bottom. Then I hopped to the next platform up then up another, ascending the wall like it was a giant's stair-case. Duck then hop and roll onto the next platform. I'm three quarters of the way up.

Parter was about to close my platform.

I shot my knees and blasted open the nearest platform and barely caught the edge as the platform beneath me slid back into the wall. With a breath, I caught the wall with my legs and pushed myself up.

Friends though we may be, Parter and I had no quarter for each other during these evaluations. This was a competition and we wanted into our respective branches of the Imperial War Machine. I know some of the other kids had approached Parter to ask him to take it easier on them with some political promises, but he refused them.

I was proud just as I was exasperated that he was going to shoot another platform out from under me.

The first time I had seen the well, I was worried. I was afraid of falling. The first couple of weeks I had thrown the evaluations, I didn't fall. The third one, I made sure I didn't fall. Eventually, though, I did fall. From the top to the bottom. I didn't get injured, but I had fallen and it wasn't that bad. Honestly, getting used to falling has done more for my fear of heights than anything else.

Hop up. Take aim.

Shot Parter's platform out from under him, but he had gotten to another one. Kesh was taking aim at me, I saw, so I raised my blaster and put a well-placed shot right to his chest and he was knocked from his platform. In true Imperial fashion, that sort of thing was encouraged – if you could remove the enemy permanently, do it.

I was three quarters up the well. Normally, looking down into the well from this height would be enough to give me a sense of vertigo but I felt nothing. Nothing but wariness as I looked for my next target. Where's Parter?

He's going to shoot out my platform.

My head snapped up to his direction, where he had actually managed to get above me and shot my platform out from under me. I shot another platform to stand on, but I was too slow, and found myself falling. I caught a platform about half-way up the well, slamming onto the durasteel with an grunt.

I lost track of one of my more dangerous opponents. If I lose because of that, I deserve it.

Up the platform, jump over the surprise gap. Keep going. Blast Parter's platform out from under him. Watch him fall from being close to the top to where we were before. Shoot a couple platforms at my level to act as a safety net.

With a breath, I started climbing again. Up above, I saw Irawa, one of the students here because his Dad was a Moff, about to climb out of the well. I and a few other students got the same idea and started shooting him. But even as his platform disappeared beneath him, he had jumped into the well. I responded by shooting him straight in the back.

The shock caused him to lose grip and he fell, hitting the platforms I had shot out earlier as a safety net. Sorry, but I need to win. _Need_ too.

I climbed up, getting to three-quarters of the way up again. I had expected for the class to be easier since Saren 'got moved'. Because he was gone and I actually felt bad for him. But instead of evaluations being turned into a cake-walk, everyone else got more ruthless. I imagine their parents had quite a bit to say about their performance, or lack thereof. Especially those parents in the Navy and Stormtrooper Corps and want their children to follow in their footsteps.

Focus. Need to move.

Keep going up. I sensed that some that were closer to the bottom had given up on winning in the traditional sense and were content to turtle their way up by shooting out anyone that got too high. That included me.

Duck under the blaster fire. Hop up onto the final platform before the ledge. The platform was shot out beneath me and with a yelp of surprise, I plunged down to the safety net I had prepared.

I looked up. Parter had managed to climb out of the well first. Above me, Loro and Kesh were both almost there. If I didn't act fast, they were going to get out and I was going to get my first loss since I got back three weeks ago.

Move, move, move.

Shoot out two platforms. Send Loro back down. Kesh managed to get to the next platform.

Karabast.

The hail of blaster fire coming from down below was getting extra intense as Loro, I presume, had given up on making it out for now and was trying to pulling the rest of us down. Jump before the platform disappears. Jump before the new platform disappears, jump and shoot out a new platform.

Shoot a platform, send Kesh to the bot-nowhere because he just made a new platform for himself. Great. Shoot _him_ and knock him off course mid-jump. Good. Back away from a hail of blaster bolts heading my way.

Up another platform. I'm almost to the edge. I line up to take another shot at Kesh and I reflexively back away from a blaster bolt from below, which sadly gave Kesh all the time he needed to line up a shot of his own. The impact of the bolt to my chest knocked me into the wall behind me, thankfully not sending me off the ledge.

Kriffing little…

I stood up and shot out another platform. I was up at the ledge and after quickly scrambling up to avoid the hail of blasterfire, I was out.

Third place.

Huh.

Well, I guess getting shot or trying to shoot Kesh before he climbed wasn't that big of a deal. Still, I've been on a winning streak the past four weeks, I'm not interested in seeing it down the drain now.

* * *

"So. You tell your parents yet?" I asked Parter.

"I did," Parter sighed. "They...weren't really thrilled about it."

"Why not?" I pressed.

"Well…you know how strictly the military punishes failure, right?" Parter asked me with a concerned look around to make sure Sergeant Oliyo wasn't eavesdropping again. "I mean, they don't really talk about it much."

"I've heard it can be pretty severe," I replied with a deliberate blink.

"In some case's they'll kill you," Parter elaborated. "Immediate death penalty. No trial, no court martial. Nothing. Just screw up at the wrong place and _bam_. You're done."

"Where did you hear this from?" I asked with a frown.

"My Dad says he's heard some horror stories from off-duty officers here on-planet," Parter's fingers were flexing and twitching. "I mean, I want to fly a Tie Fighter, command a Star Destroyer and then retire when I hit the right age. But…is it really worth the risk?"

"Well, that depends," I shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I think the onus to perform well gets more severe the higher you climb, so I'm thinking of refusing promotion just so I can stay away from the crazies."

"Only _you'd_ be crazy enough to pass up promotion," Parter shook his head, still looking. Sergeant Oliyo was in the restroom, if I was sensing correctly. "Or is that genius?"

"I've heard that those two traits coincide quite often," I told him. "I wish I could say 'don't worry about it' but the only way to not worry about something like that is, well, to not fail."

"Easier said than done," Parter sighed.

"I know," I nodded. You see, I think the Empire is set up to reward those that the force favors. If the force wants you to live or get promoted, it'll make it happen. If it doesn't you'll fail. That's why there are people out there who manage to get all the way to Moff or Admiral by never failing (or by being good at covering up their failures). If it wasn't so, then the Empire's war-machine would've imploded by not having a stable enough command structure.

At least that was my opinion, at any rate. "Whether you want to risk it is up to you."

"I almost don't want too, at this rate," Parter sighed. "You're not going to back down, are you?"

"Nope," I shook my head. If I fail bad enough they want to kill me, it's time to defect. If I don't, then I'll have reached my goal, got the desired training, and then it'll be time to defect anyway. Either way, I wind up with the Empire wanting to kill me. "Not like I've got anything else to look forward too."

"I almost envy you," Parter said. "It's like you've got nothing to lose and everything to gain."

"Well, whatever you decide, you'll do really well at it," I replied with a nod. "I've got complete faith in your abilities."

"Thanks, Jet," Parter gave me a small smile. "You know you're getting into the Storm Trooper corps. Right? It's not even a question at the rate you're going."

"We'll see," Was there some doubt in my mind about how valid the statistics that Pyrus quoted to me were? Absolutely. Was I willing the chance it? Certainly not. Besides, if I win every time, that means I've transcended what this class has to teach me. "There's still the senior academy, you know."

"You doubt it," Parter replied with a raised eyebrow. "Your aim tells a different story."

* * *

It's worst nightmare time.

Panic time. Danger, Jethro Plite! Danger!

Sheeve Palpatine is visiting the Academy.

The Emperor. The most powerful Sith Lord in recent history. The man personally responsible for engraving the incredible power of force lightning into the minds of an entire generation. _The_ Evil Overlord for an entire generation. One of the few good parts of the prequal trilogy and I _liked_ the prequal trilogy.

In all likelihood, I'm not going to get a face-to-face meeting. Unless he detects the ROB's dimensional hacking. But I doubt she'd do what, in my opinion, would be a hack-job. That might just be my blind faith in people assuming they know what they're doing.

I'm _really_ hoping that I'm right and she's done this correctly.

As part of Deenlark's junior work detail, we were all assembled on the Academy's front lawn in our own unit next to the shuttle as it landed. Even as the shuttle landed, it took me absolutely everything I had to calm the heck down because not only was I a bundle of horrified nerves from top to bottom, I could feel the dark presence of the Emperor.

Yeah.

I wish I was making that up. But I could. That cold, dark vacuum that brought a black hole to mind as I eagerly tried to shrink myself to the size of a bacteria since I was in the second row of our formation at the very end. Thank the Force.

The ramp opened and…there he was.

Emperor Palpatine.

That sick feeling in the pit of my stomach only intensified as his eminence, dressed in fine red and black robes stepped off of the shuttle with his red-robed royal guard. Commandant Deenlark came forward knelt before him.

"Deenlark," Ian MacDiarmid, the only way I can think about the guy without soiling my pants, said. Because that is just an actor. Clearly one placed here by the rob and not actually the single most terrifying person in the galaxy. "I am pleased with the appearance of the Academy."

"My Lord," The Commandant replied. "I am honored to serve in this capacity."

"Stand," The Emperor commanded. "Commence with your tour."

"At once, my Lord," Deenlark stood and span on his heel.

I flexed and unflexed my toes. Calm down. That is the only thought. Calm. Don't be afraid. Don't be…anything. Just be calm and continue to exist. He's just here to tour and examine the grounds. That's it. Then he's going to give a speech and have dinner here. Don't think about the possibility that Deenlark's work detail will be acting as busboys for this dinner.

The only solace I truly had, as my presence shrunk to the size of a two-foot tall midget, was that I was not the only person as sickly nervous as this. To my surprise. Some of the other students radiated nervousness. A few pockets from the Senior track. I don't know why. Maybe they're also force sensitive and are reacting to the sick, demented presence that currently assumed the mantle of Emperor of this Empire.

But he was terrifying. Holy cow was he terrifying. I can't imagine being willing to fight this monstrosity. I'm quite glad that Lord Vader hadn't deigned to show up, though I can't imagine _why_ he would be here on what was likely a routine visit. If it was even routine. It might've been random, chosen by the Emperor because he enjoyed rustling people's jimmies.

…there's an expression I hadn't used in a while. Jimmies!

I'm a little calmer now.

Now I'm not.

We stood there, at attention, waiting until the Emperor disappeared in one of the administrative buildings.

"Junior Work detail, you are dismissed," That was Sergeant Oliyo on our helmets comm channel. "Your assistance will not be required. Report to your individual class barracks and remain there until called to report for His eminences speech."

 _Thank the Force!_

One by one, the other squads were similarly dismissed. We were marched back to our barracks by an Ensign. Out of all the Junior troops, we were dismissed first so upon getting to our room, Parter and I got here first and I was able to take off my helmet and jump onto my bunk with a heave.

The thing is still here.

Is it even a man? It doesn't feel like one.

"Are you okay?" Parter asked with a frown.

"I will be," I replied with a frown. "…the Emperor being here. It's a lot of take in, you know?"

Parter's eyes narrowed. "You're sweating."

"Yes," I nodded, touching my face and feeling the liquid through my glove. "Yes, I am definitely sweating."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Parter asked with actual concern in his eyes.

"I'll be fine," I replied with a nod, laying down on the bunk again. "I…just got my own reality check."

"How do you mean?" Parter asked with a frown.

"You remember how you were talking about how failure isn't tolerated in the military?" I asked him with a frown.

"Yeah," Parter replied. "What's that got to do with-"

The door opened and the rest of the class spilled in, cutting him off since neither of us wanted to continue this conversation with witnesses.

Which suited me just fine, actually.

I just had a very uncomfortable truth rubbed in my face.

My time in the academy, both the remainder of my Junior track and my three-year Senior track, is going to be dangerous. Not just the academy, but the Imperial Military as well. I could wind up working alongside Darth Vader at some point before I get what I want. Not even Vader, just any Inquisitor or someone equally insane. People who would gleefully murder me in a rage if I, or they, screw up.

I mean, I thought I could handle it before. But now? The risk of death by lightning literally being given a tour by the commandant. Actually, it might not even be lightning, but it will be painful. I could wind up in the 501st Legion and be around Darth kriffing Vader for my entire career. My shot at defecting would be, well…shot. It'd be done.

Under no circumstances do I want to be working alongside _anything_ waving a red lightsaber around. To volatile, too dangerous. Of course, I'd end up _fighting_ those people waving red lightsabers when I end up defecting so…do I even want to fight?

I mean, I could just leave it to Luke Skywalker.

That's still on, right? Skywalker goes off to fight Vader, chops his hand off then gets zapped by the Emperor and Vader takes that as his cue to switch sides for reasons that I don't think were ever made clear.

I don't have to help the Rebellion. Or I _could_ help the Rebellion, but I can do so without going through the Imperial Military and winding up killing myself by being the officer that has to tell Vader I failed to find his favorite coffee mug.

…that's an exaggeration. But the point stands.

I don't want to die. Again. I like it here. I'm in Star Wars. I'm using the Force. I'm going to wield a lightsaber! I…I'm going to make friends here. I _have_ made friends here. Parter. M7's like my Mom here. I'd probably make more if I wasn't keeping everything so close to the chest.

I need to consider if the risk if worth it going forward.

Because my only way out is going to be the end of the Junior track. I can choose to get another education and just live a normal life. If I continue on to the Senior track, I'm locked in and my only way out is either death or defection. I seriously doubt I'll make it to the retirement age. Likelier to die or defect first.

Am I even going to defect? If I do and get caught…I don't even want to think about that.

* * *

Several hours later, we were standing out on the grass before the podium as the Emperor spoke. It was probably an amazing speech. One riddled with symbolic meaning about the strength of the Empire while also patting himself on the back for orchestrating the fall of the Republic. He was the type of villain to do that.

But I couldn't pay attention to the speech. I was busy shrinking myself and keeping myself small. Out of focus. Out of sight. It was the only way to avoid breaking out in a panic attack from having _Emperor Palpatine_ in front of me.

I was in the second row. The man's presence was absolutely stifling. I was grateful that he didn't notice, or didn't seem to notice, that my presence was fluctuating. Granted, when you're giving a speech to two-thousand or so people, I imagine that he was distracted. Maybe he was feeding on them? Hopefully, he's too busy to give me anything more than a glance.

The Emperor concluded his speech and walked off. Watching him move off the stage and heading toward his shuttle, waiting for him to _finally_ begone from this campus to leave me in peace was _maddening_.

…

… _walk faster!_

Calm.

Caaaaalm.

Think of calming music.

Just keep calm and keep small.

Keep my calm and keep small.

He boards the shuttle. The shuttle starts to take off, the flaps of the wings come down. It orients toward the Imperial Palace and takes off at an easy cruise.

I keep my sigh of relief inside, to be saved until I'm in my barracks sliding underneath the sheets.

The worst did not happen.

But it sure could've happened. I can't ever forget the guy at the head would laugh if a nuke swallowed us up in fire.

Never forget.

There's a reason I'm defecting, if I even make it that far.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: I had the idea of the Emperor visiting the Academy in my head, but I always figured that nothing would really happen; he'd take a tour, give a speech and end up getting called away by something. The purpose for including the scene would be to make Jet really think about the risk he was taking by going through with this plan._

 _That, and I couldn't really have him be found out by Palpatine, that would be the end of the fic._

 _Shout-Out goes out to_ Melden V, John, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Flamester, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens _and_ Jiopaba. _Thank you all for your continued support._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _~Fulcon_


	6. Interlude: Perspectives

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

Pyrus let out a very long sigh of relief as he settled into his office chair, feeling every minute of his advancing age in the creaks of his bones.

He always dreaded the Emperor's visits. Which always came at least once a year, sometimes more. A twisted knot formed in his gut every time the Emperor arrived to visit the academy to tour the facilities and receive reports on each of the promising piles of bantha piss that passed for students. The Emperor was remarkably invested in the future of his Empire.

Not all of the students were piles of excrement, though. Pyrus leaned forward and made a token effort to read the datapad he had been given, but he wasn't entirely in it. The Emperor's visits were very similar to a massive parasite arriving and draining everyone dry and in his advancing age, he needed to take a breather.

At least one or two students a year entered the student body, sincere in their desire to learn and were better than the petty squabbles that were inherent in the academy's curriculum. His personal favorite was Yarcy Quintin, a student who graduated nearly two years ago into the Imperial army. Pyrus had heard that he had become a very skilled walker pilot and was promoted to Sergeant Major.

Some others had come close to Yarcy's level. Ward Porter, Alex Tyr…Jethro Plite looked like he might join the ranks of Pyrus's favorite students. Maybe. His commitment to his goals and unwillingness to participate in the school-yard shows of dominance were downright admirable. But…Plite was force sensitive.

Pyrus put the notes down on his desk and pulled open one of his desks drawer and withdrew a pack of deathsticks and a lighter. He stuck it in his mouth and lit it, inhaling the smoke and feeling his nerves calm immensely. Smoking was not something he did lightly, it made shouting at recruits when they got out of line difficult.

Plite was very much like the Jedi commander he had served alongside all those years ago. Focused on his goal and detached, sometimes at the expense of some crucial details. Order 66 was given and he knew with everything he was that the Jedi in front of him was a threat to everything he had been grown to protect. That one of his students was like that, focused on his goal of being a Storm Trooper but losing site of how important winning his evaluations was.

The aged clone shook his head as he remembered Sergeant Oliyo reporting the conversation she had overheard between Plite and Cores.

 _'Taskmaster Pyrus, I heard Recruit Cores and Recruit Plite talking during their work detail,'_ The Sergeant had said. _'Plite confessed to throwing his first two evaluations for extra physical training, sir.'_

 _'He what?'_ Pyrus had distinctly remembered being grateful he had finished taking his sip of caff before the Sergeant had dropped that on him. _'Did he say_ why _he wanted the extra physical training_?'

 _'He wanted to improve his chances in the field,'_ Sergeant Oliyo had explained. _'Seemed to believe that getting the training was more important than proving that training, sir.'_

Pyrus had kept that in mind when he had arranged for the Tie Fighter fly-along. He wanted to see what Plite, as well as what some of the other students, such as Cores and Kesh, would do when given such a tempting reward.

Plite surprised him when he employed a strategy that relied on the other students being too distracted with fighting amongst themselves to notice Plite shooting the platforms right out from under them.

But Plite was force sensitive. But not strong enough to be considered for the Emperor's special _training_ , whatever it was. Deenlark agreed with him and Saren, the obvious candidate was nominated instead. Pyrus didn't know what happened to these recruits when Inquisitor Ira met with them. Perhaps they were inducted into black ops. Maybe they were killed.

Of course, Plite's potential was discussed in the Emperor's meeting with the Commandant, that was one of the points of the visit. To discuss other potential candidates that may have been force sensitive but were ruled as not strong enough.

Some additional class members were selected by his eminences decree. Plite was not one of them. In a way, he was grateful. Plite wanted to be a storm trooper and he honestly wanted to help him get there.

Plite was force sensitive and…so was his old commander all those years ago. He still felt that anger at how the Jedi master had betrayed the republic. But as the years had gone on, he started to wonder. Was he really the threat Pyrus had felt he was? The anger at the betrayal still burned inside him, but it had been dulled by the passage of time and by a sense of confusion that had started to take root.

He was still angry, but why? The turn of events had run their course. It had been over a decade. The Jedi was just another commander. A detached one focused on winning in the bigger picture, but another commander. He had dealt with much worse. But the anger was there.

Pyrus didn't like it. He had heard rumors, of course, that every clone had a chip implanted in their head. To force them to obey the numbered orders that could be given in spite of any objections the clone might have. As the years had gone on, he had started to wonder if the rumors were true.

Shooting his old commander for no reason beyond hearing Order 66 being issued with zero qualms was starting to look like it. But Jet was like him. Committed, detached and working toward a larger goal. With the way he dogmatically pursued his goals, it wouldn't have surprised Pyrus if he had plans beyond the corps.

So maybe, Pyrus had thought, that helping Jet achieve his goal might…absolve him of any wrong doing. If there was some on his part. That's why he came up with those unrealistic statistics. To push him as hard as he could go. He didn't expect Jet to actually win every single evaluation, but he was going to work him into the ground when he failed. Because he didn't just want Jet to become a desert trooper or an ice trooper or a jump trooper.

He wanted Jet to survive the experience. Then maybe he could go back to hating his old commander in peace.

Pyrus shook his head in bemusement, finishing the death stick and dropping it into the cup of water he hid in his desk. _He actually bought the seventy-percent statistic. I doubted it would work, actually._

* * *

"I'm still thinking about it, Mom," Parter was on a comms unit in his barracks. It was free time, so he was lounging on his cot beneath Saren's old bunk. "I mean, I really want too. I want in, but the Taskmaster said that I probably wouldn't get into the Navy because only the best of the Senior Academies get to pick their branch."

"Oh, thank the Emperor," His Mom breathed. "Oh-uh-I mean, that's a shame, son. Maybe you should really consider COMPnor again. It's a completely respectable line of work that doesn't put you on the front lines."

Parter's frown was total as he glared up into the shadowed ceiling. "Not everyone that makes a mistake dies, Mom. If they did, they wouldn't have a command structure because no one is perfect, Right?"

"Maybe, but it still happens with alarming regularity," His Mom replied. "And you're hardly perfect yourself. I wouldn't feel safe at all if I knew my baby boy was stationed on a Star Destroyer out in the back end of the Outer Rim."

Parter sighed. "I don't think it'd be that bad."

"You heard the same story your Father heard," His Mom said, sounding stern. "The poor captain lost a freighter and the Admiral had him executed for incompetence. That's no place for any child of mine."

"…I'll call you back, Mom," Parter said, moving to turn the comms unit off.

"No, no, wait!" Parter heard the frantic plea on the other side. "Honey, I just want you to be safe. That's all."

"I know Mom," Parter sighed. "I know. I love you."

"I love you too, honey," She assured him.

"Goodbye," Parter actually turned it off this time.

Parter knew that she had a point. He hadn't heard anything about how stiff the penalties for failure could be in the Military, but he suspected that was because they didn't start talking about that until the Senior Track, if not until you got placed in a branch and it was too late to leave.

He slid the comm back into his belt, and picked up the helmet resting on his stomach. He looked into the eyepieces and saw its likeness to the human skull. Perhaps for the first time, he felt that he was looking at his _own_ skull.

The Cadet wanted to fly a Tie Fighter. That was _all_ that he wanted to do, he felt. Eventually, when he was old and his reflexes had dulled, he could get promoted to Admiral, command a fleet of his own. Parter knew that wasn't _entirely_ how the ranks worked but he didn't care at that moment. But what he didn't want to be was killed for an innocent mistake.

He laid the helmet down on his stomach and let out a long breath. _I want to fly, but I don't want to die. But I can't fly without risk of dying._

Well, not necessarily, Parter thought. He could fly civilian star craft. No weapons allowed but he'd still be able to fly. But that idea didn't hold as much sway as being able to shoot something down in the middle of pitch combat, to prove that _he_ owned the stars and the space they lived in.

It was at times like this that he really felt his envy for Jet.

He looked up across the room toward his classmate's bunk.

Jet didn't make mistakes. Jet took calculated gambles. When he saw something he wanted, he just moved to take it. The risks involved were considered and discarded as worth it, or negligible. Drawbacks were simply dealt with as par the course. He was driven, above the petty squabbling that plagued the rest of the class. If there was anyone that was going to live a full life in the military, it would be Jet. He was the _picture_ of success.

Parter wanted to be like that. But there was something stopping him; he was afraid. If Jet was afraid, it didn't stop him from moving forward. It never stopped him. But Parter? Parter didn't want to die.

But he didn't want to spend his life at a desk processing paperwork, wondering what kind of life he'd have lived if he had taken the plunge and worked as hard as he could to join the Navy. _Is it worth the risk, though?_

He shifted to lay back on his back with a grunt, thankful he could think about this in peace, away from the rest of the class and their constant attention mongering. Especially Loro, who got even worse after the winter break.

 _At least I've still got a couple of months to think about it,_ Parter thought, picking up the helmet. _I've got until then._

* * *

The Emperor was surprised at how profitable the last trip to the Academy had been.

The throne room was dark, his hood casting a shadow over his face as Coruscant's sun set behind him. The shadows only barely failed to hide the gleaming red armor of the Emperor's royal guard. The throne that the Emperor sat upon cast a long shadow upon the stairs up to him, serving as a reminder to any and all who visit him that they lived under his shadow and existed only by the nearly nonexistent good will he had.

In this batch of students, there was an unusual number of force sensitive children. Shortly after the Winter break, the most promising students were chosen for his Inquisitor program. An unusual amount, which meant that their training needed to be upped to whittle them down to the proper number.

Then he made his visit. He made sure to give the good Commandant as little warning as could reasonably issue before he visited, to make sure he ran the Academy as strictly as he could at all times. That, and the stomach churning of the Academy staff whenever he set foot on the grounds was just delicious.

Of course, it wasn't only the staff who worried themselves sick. The students all had varying levels of uneasiness as he departed the shuttle, as was right and proper. Some of the Commandants personal work detail were afraid, including one amusing student who was attempting to make himself as small as possible to avoid detection. Whether it was intentional or unintentional was a topic of interest, but not enough to call his attention for long.

Not like the group of senior students whose sheer terror was enough to bring a smile to the Emperor's face. According to the Commandant, they had managed to grow close in spite of everything the academy was doing to keep them as competitive as possible. And it was all thanks to particularly affectionate student who was good at listening and good at leading.

She was named Rena Qardo and was a daughter of one of those accursed senators. She had taken on herself the burdens of that group of students and networked them to begin working together. They had become _friends_ , a word which made the Emperor's turn his nose up as if he had just smelled the foulest of bantha droppings. She was force sensitive as well, which made the decision obvious; the Emperor ordered her into the Inquisitors.

It was known, as well. They were all afraid they'd lose her because of her affinity to the force. How much they actually knew about the force and how much they knew about the Inquisitors was under investigation, but the idea was interesting. Rena was not strong enough for the Inquisitors, in any case. It was likely she'd be dead within the month, but that was fine. She was meat for the strong to cut their teeth on. With the center of their group taken, they would return to the competition that was the central part of the academy. Or they might rebel, but then they will be shot like the traitors they were. Nothing of value would be lost.

And if she succeeded? Well, then the Emperor had a loyal servant with surprising wits and strength, having given herself over to the dark side.

The Emperor felt satisfied with the results of his visit. Those with sensitivity but not strong enough for the Inquisitors would strengthen the arms of his military, bringing the reach of his empire to the farthest corners of the galaxy. They were favored, they were better. They would rise through the ranks.

They would serve him.

All shall serve him.

A thought occurred to him, and he placed a call to his Apprentice.

The hologram before him flickered to life, his apprentice in black armor and signature breathing kneeling before him. "What is thy bidding, my master?"

"Lord Vader, how goes the hunt for the Jedi remnants on Onderon?" Palpatine requested.

"It goes well, master," Lord Vader replied. "We have found their hidden enclave and burned it, leaving few survivors. Even now, they are being hunted down and shall be destroyed."

"Good," Palpatine said. "Very good. The remnants of that pathetic order must be purged for our Empire to be truly secure."

* * *

 _Author's Notes: Hmmm…short. I had truthfully wanted this chapter would be, I don't know, just a little bit longer. But it's an interlude, so it's not really meant to be a full-on chapter that moves the story forward. Just give some clarity on things, such as the Emperor being amused by Jet but not able to remember his name and other things. I hope you enjoyed it. This chapter feels very…placeholder-ish but I think I needed that to get into the meat of it all once again._

 _Special thanks too Super Patrons_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, John, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens _and_ Jiopaba. _Thank you for your continued support._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _~Fulcon_


	7. Training

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

This was not going well.

I thought this as the platform I was standing on was shot out from under me and I fell several feet down. Then the platform I had landed on was shot out from under me and I fell to the bottom with my cry of pain cut by the wind leaving my lungs.

Scratch that, this is going horribly.

What was going on was a team effort. Kesh, Loro and another cadet named Ryloss were each watching each-others backs, shooting their enemies and working together in a three-man collaborative effort and as a result, were stomping us all into the ground, a fact undercut when Tyr hit the ground beside me a few seconds later.

Of all the times for some of the class to catch on that all competition, all the time was a bad thing, it had to be _now_? Like right now? When I needed to actually win every single evaluation to avoid being singled out by Pyrus? The sheer amount of rotten luck was filling my veins with anger and made me want to cry tears of pure salt.

Whatever. This is still salvageable. Hopefully.

I stood up and took aim with my blaster. They were ascending quickly, but they weren't looking down at the bottom, instead their attention was focused on the other students around their same level, trying to shoot them out while climbing closer and closer to the top.

Loro was their leader, I could feel it. The formerly overweight student was the driving force for this team, which is why he needed to be the one to fall. If this happens, he'll likely get frustrated and it will hurt future team-ups as the first one failed. Take him out, take the team with him.

My training blaster raised, I squeezed the trigger and hit the target to Loro's next platform square on, sending it inside and causing Loro to fall to the second to bottom level. Good enough for me.

I shot a target, then another and started ascending again. A blaster bolt rained from above, hitting the target to my platform and forcing me to jump prematurely. The other two members of the trio had actually paused near the top to help their leader catch up. I wonder what Loro promised them.

But I could use this. I lined up a couple shots and took out their platforms. They saw it coming, though, and quickly shifted to other platforms and bringing out others for them to retreat to should it be required. Those platforms were quickly closed, however, by shots that were meant for them in particular but went wide from some of our other classmates.

Just keep climbing. I've only got fifteen more levels to go, half-way there. Line up a shot, try to take Ryloss down. He shifted to a lower platform and shot out his out platform, trying to climb back up. This attempt was dashed when a blaster bolt from another student sent him careening down into the well.

Ha!

…move.

Got to move faster.

Up, up, up. I need to move. Move, move! I am _not_ going to get turned into Pyrus's whipping boy only seven evaluations in! No!

With some surprise, I saw that Kesh had been shot down by Parter, who was climbing up to the same level I was at before turning his blaster on me. I shot out his platform and he fell two levels. I was starting to get up to the higher levels again, and it was turning into an intense battle. The students here were sick of being under Pyrus, sick of seeing other's climb over them and sick of _me_.

Since I started going full tryhard to avoid being put under Pyrus, that was understandable, I guess. But they were mad about it and, more than anything else, wanted me to lose. Which is why I had three platforms drop from under me in rapid succession, sending me back down to level twelve.

No, no, no!

I looked up and saw one student about to climb out, having just jumped onto the top platform. I took aim and shot the platform out from under him before I started climbing again. The battle above had turned into a stalemate, no one able to ascend without getting blasted down, but were too quick and wily to get forcibly pushed down.

Far be it from me to interrupt such an evenly balanced free-for-all, especially when I'm this low.

Climb up one level, then two. Shoot Kesh and Loro down again. Narrowly avoid getting shot myself by Ryloss. Jump. Ascend to level twenty. Start picking off members of the melee and begin climbing up again. Shoot down another student who would've gotten out of the pit before me. Then another. Then climb again.

Go, go, go!

Shoot, shoot!

Climb a platform to dodge a blaster bolt. Jump up, keep going. Shoot another student down. Keep Ryloss down. Up! Up! Level twenty-seven. Almost there! Someone had gotten out of the pit. I looked around and saw three others scrambling to get out of the Well. I shot one in the back, then another. The last managed out, so there was only one place left to go before Pyrus's training detail started to get filled out.

I clambered up another platform. Then another, then a final one before I grabbed the ledge. Parter shot out the platform below me. Then he hit me in the back, but I held on in spite of how much that _stung_. The second shot, however, sent me to level six, and Parter climbed out of the Well.

The back of my helmet hit the platform in sheer disappointment. The end of the world was nigh. I had my one loss and I wasn't even half-way through the final block of school, yet. I was hoping to take it easy my last week here, but _Parter_ had to climb up past me.

Whatever. Let's move and not make myself look even worse.

* * *

I found it odd that Pyrus wasn't actually upset. A little annoyed in the same way he'd look at a toddler who was still trying to be potty-trained after he soiled the carpet. Patience mixed with exasperation.

The reason I found it odd was because Pyrus had turned up his drill sergeant nasty personality up past eleven. _Past_ eleven. Not to. _Past_.

"PLITE!" Pyrus bellowed from his position at the head of our running formation. "GET UP HERE AND DIRECT TRAFFIC BEFORE YOUR NANNY DROIDS HAVE TO COLLECT YOU FROM THE GARBAGE CHUTE!"

On our morning runs, we would occasionally run head-long or side-long into other running troupes from either the junior track or senior track. We've even run into the Commandant in this manner. Naturally, this means that someone has to organize the chaos at these four-way stops and direct traffic. Right now, that's me. The guy ordered to stay at the back of the line to run to the front and then to the back again.

Naturally, I had started running up immediately.

"NOW, PLITE!" Pyrus shouted at the top of his lungs. "MOVE IT, CADET! NOW! GO, GO, GO, GO-!"

He kept going until I took my spot ahead of the four classes, troupes…whatever, and started directing traffic. Per order from Pyrus, our group was to go last and we were to keep bouncing on our feet until we were permitted to go ahead. Since our run ended at the end of three circuits around the academy, this had the unfortunate effect of making it take even longer.

Naturally, I had figured out the lesson a while ago. In the Empire, people were going to work together. They both had too and sometimes they would strike special accords with one another. Because of this, I had to watch out for any hidden partnership that would blindside me. Anyone could be working with anyone and that meant I couldn't trust those who I called friend and I _certainly_ couldn't trust that people doomed to remain where they are because of their own merits would actually stay there because they could form political connections at any time.

"TO THE BACK, PLITE! NOW!" Pyrus barked at me right as I finished sending each group on their way and I ran to the back. This was the second time today. My legs and lungs were starting to feel the burn.

* * *

"PLITE! YOU'RE GOING TOO SLOW!" Pyrus hadn't let up all day and wouldn't let up for the rest of the week. "HUSTLE IT, YOU'RE NOT ONE OF THOSE DELICATE TWI'LEKS! MOVE!"

Weren't there Twi'Lek Jedi? So that makes that racist _and_ inaccurate but whatever. I vaulted over the barrier presented and kept running. Next obstacle was a tire obstacle where rings were strewn in an alternating pattern and you had to hop them one step at a time.

"Loro, I thought you lost weight, move faster chub-chub!" Pyrus, thankfully, had to yell at the others some times to avoid giving them free reign, which made me feel good. Until he started yelling at me again. "PLITE, THIS ISN'T THE ACADEMY OF TIP-TOING THROUGH THE FLOWERS, RUN THAT TIRE OBSTACLE LIKE YOU MEAN IT!"

"Yes sir!" Run, run, run. Faster, faster, faster. Move it.

Normally, as a Force Sensitive, sensing these conspiracies propping up shouldn't be a problem. Shouldn't. My issue is that I've been specializing in copying procedural memories from people and avoiding prying into their personal lives – sensing people's intentions and actions is something I've been avoiding. I…might not have a choice if I want to successfully maneuver the Imperial Military without haplessly landing right into the 501st or getting backstabbed.

The rock-wall wasn't a challenge, as usual. I vaulted over the top and grabbed the zipline as normal, even while Pyrus was shouting at me to go faster.

If I even get that far. Truth be told, I'm have serious second thoughts about this entire endeavor, all thanks to the Emperor. If I were to run into Vader or an Inquisitor at an inopportune time, I don't know what I would do. I could quit at the end of this semester. It'll be the only chance I have to leave on a high note. I could intentionally fail the Senior courses to wash out, but given that I have a recorded history of intentionally failing, I could get drafted into the Imperial military _anyway_. I'm an orphan without connections, it could easily happen.

"PLITE RUN THE COURSE AGAIN!" Pyrus shouted at me as I came up to the finish line. "MOVE IT!"

"Yes sir!" I responded before running out. Pyrus sent out a couple people behind me, including Parter and Loro. My legs were burning up like crazy and my lungs were pumping air in and out as fast as they could.

But if I leave the academy, what will I do with my life? I want to join the Rebellion, but then they'd have to train me and depending on when I actually find them, they may or may not have the resources needed to train me or they'll put me in a non-combat role. Safer, perhaps, and maybe ideal if someone cares about dying, but I've already died once, so the fear simply isn't there anymore.

I'm not afraid of death.

Well, not beyond the biological instincts in me that tell me to resist death at all costs, but that's biology.

That brings me to another point, while I tune out Pyrus's yelling at Loro again for not being fast enough. Why do I want to bring down the Empire? Why do I, right now, want to restore the Republic? Before, it was about emulating my favorite Star Wars hero; Kyle Katarn, consigned to Legends as he was. It was also about fighting alongside Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Princess Leia – the heroes of my childhood.

But now that I've lived in this world for fourteen years and seen only a fraction of the massive galaxy that exists outside of the ensemble of main characters. I wonder just how invested can I be in fighting alongside my childhood heroes when the road is so long, rocky and the promises payout smaller than a star in the view of the galaxy.

Up the rock wall, my arms burning now, just like my legs. Grab the zip line and tumble to the ground.

"Plite, drop down and give me twenty!" Pyrus barked as I came up to him.

"Yes sir!" I replied, assuming PT position.

One.

There's not even a guarantee I'll even meet them.

Two.

Three.

Four.

It's a huge galaxy, just how big _is_ the rebellion?

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

I wish I watched Rogue One so I could've gotten a better idea of what the rebellion was like before Luke came along.

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

The only reason I can consider not quitting is being unsure of what to do with my life.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.

That's not a good reason.

I stood up.

"Plite, drop down and give me twenty," Pyrus ordered.

…

"PLITE!"

"Yes sir!" I assumed PT position again.

I'm honestly concerned about my reasoning. Because the reasons I picked weren't good ones for the amount of work I have to put in and risk I'd go through to get to achieve my goals. And because of that, I'm actually at risk of giving up or worse, succumbing to the indoctrination of the Empire.

That would be the last thing that I'd ever want right now. I'd rather give up after Junior than become a sincere supporter of the Empire.

Not going to lie, I think I've caught myself considering aliens as less than a human at least a couple times. The very fact that I used aliens instead of sentients is also worrying, and the fact that it worries me is bizarre because words are just words and actions are what's important and…yeah, the idea of Imperial brainwashing affecting me is a scary one.

I'm just glad I've figured out how to distract myself from how much my body hurts by thinking, or I'd be suffering right now.

Twenty.

Finished, I stood up and at attention. Pyrus didn't order me to PT again, for which I was grateful.

See, my problem is that I knew the Empire's racism and various other sins were a travesty on an intellectual level. These problems are distant and I have no real emotional stake in it because I've both never seen it happen and the Empire's been pretty good to me so far. The orphanage was well stocked, the nanny droids were well maintained and I've learned _so much_ here in the Academy.

All of my reasons for rebelling are from fourteen years ago in a trilogy of movies. A sextology if you want to include reasons to hate Palpatine personally. His dark aura and the way he scared me out of my mind might've counted but that would mean I'm rebelling because he made me feel bad.

"Move out, recruits!" Pyrus ordered and we ran off for mess, and then hopefully, free time.

* * *

Pyrus hadn't let up for the whole week. Not even a little bit. He criticized absolutely everything he could get away with and, like on the first day of the week, PT'd me for no reason at all at times. The other kids were whispering, making up stories as to what I had done to tick Pyrus off so bad. I don't know the details and I don't care to know the details. I just want to rest and as I laid on my bunk, I got that opportunity.

Finally.

I still didn't have a reason I could feel was strong enough to withstand the Imperial military indoctrination. Because I needed to withstand it, I am _not_ going local until I'm comfortably inside the Rebel Alliance and blasting Storm Troopers alongside Han, Luke and Leia.

Storm Troopers I'll have served alongside and bled with. Troopers I'll have watched die for the Imperial cause and I'll know what things are like for them. I may resent some of the other kids here in the Academy, but I don't think it's enough. I can't just leave, either, I don't have anything else but the Empire.

…oh crap, it's already working.

I can't reform the Empire from the inside. This is a political machine that's been in the making for over twenty years by a Sith Lord. The only way I could conceivably do that is to first cut the top off but without a successor that can rally everyone behind him instead of making competitors, all that'll do is drive the Empire into civil war.

He did that on purpose.

Hate you, Palpatine. All of my hate.

 _All of it_.

What are the conditions of the Kessel Space mines? The Empire uses slavery? Intellectually, I know that's bad. Unless I see it, though, it'll go into the 'that's bad, we know it's bad, but we aren't motivated to go do something about it' category that I'm afraid so many issues fall into, both in this world and my old one.

I guess the Empire is going to give me tons of reasons to hate them when I actually get to the Corps but I'm almost afraid I'm going to be so desensitized to it, or so brainwashed, that I won't care. Or think that behavior is acceptable.

So, to wrap this whole thing up, I'm afraid of being discovered and I'm afraid of losing my identity to an Empire ruled by the Sith.

But if I need a reason to hate the Empire _now_ , all I really need to do is, well, find something. And I can do that relatively easy if I get the Commandant's work detail because, as this is also home to the Senior course, I imagine the Commandant gets a lot of communication with the other branches of the military and as the result would be privy to some of the going-ons out in the galaxy. Some.

I don't think I'll find anything huge or Earth shattering, but I need something. Something that's not 14 years old and almost forgotten.

* * *

"Begin!"

With the evaluation started, I immediately took aim at Loro, Kesh and Ryloss, putting rounds into them and sending them to the ground. Not dead or even injured, just winded. Then I shot three platforms out in quick succession.

Look to the left, then duck at the advancing blaster bolt. Run up the platforms. Shoot a platform out from the wall directly ahead of me and jump to it before the floor dashes out from under me. Look around for a second, shoot another platform. Jump to it and catch it with just my hands. I bring my legs up and kick off the wall to bring myself up the platform.

Look around.

Ryloss is going to shoot me.

Move to the side inconspicuously to shoot out another platform to make the miss look accidental. Jump to the platform, start ascending again. Blaster bolts are shooting out from below, as I was in the lead. Parter was lining up a shot and if he hit, I'd get sent down three levels. No thank you.

Not today.

Look, see him aiming, duck and shoot the platform out from underneath him, sending him down one level.

Jump up, up. _Move fast_. I am _not_ going back under Pyrus ever again! I don't care how useful his training was, it was a week of pure, unadulterated _torture_! No! Bad!

Five levels to the top. Bee line it, let's go. Shoot out one, then two platforms. Jump to the first one, then to the second, then to the third. The third platform was shot out beneath me so I shot out the one right beneath it.

Make another stair case. Climb faster, almost there.

Up I went, until I finally hit the edge. As I grabbed the edge and pushed my feet on the wall to climb out, I took a blaster-bolt to the hand, causing a searing pain that forced me to let go, leaving me hanging with one hand.

The others were catching up. With a grunt of effort, I brought my other hand up and let out a cry of shock as another bolt hit me in the back. Climb! CLIMB!

I let go with my hand again to spin and dodge another bolt before using my feet to quickly climb the ledge. I was the first on up.

 _Thank the Force_.

"Cadet Plite, you're first one out of the pit," Pyrus looked at me with a small smile. "Good work."

"Thank you, Sir," I nodded, taking my position behind him.

I think I've decided.

I need to find a reason to hate the Empire before I graduate. An actual reason that matters to me. Right now. Because what I have right now isn't going to cut it in the face of Imperial Indoctrination. Not even the simplest reason of not wanting to be on the losing side is, because things can change on a dime. If I can't find something, I'm quitting after the Junior track.

Because great military training isn't worth my soul.

* * *

 _Author's Note: This one feels shorter again. I had this odd feeling that Jet doesn't really have the conviction to turn on the Empire when it came time. Sure, he has the movies and some supplementary material, but that stuff is over a decade away from him. So that manifested itself in the plot. He doesn't want to lose that core of who he is, but if his conviction to turn on the Empire isn't strong enough, he's going to._

 _Not much to say other than I think the Empire, when he finally becomes a Storm Trooper, will likely give him plenty of reasons to hate them and that Jet might be paranoid. I do know that he's afraid, and this fear was sparked by the Emperor's visit, so he's still processing that. I think._

 _Shout out goes out too_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens and Jiopaba. _Thanks guys._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my pa t reon_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _For those of you whom are reading this on FFnet, the link is www dot pa t reon dot com slash fulcon. I am sorry it's not in a better form, FF despises my links and I can't get them to work. Thank you for your interest and I'm sorry for the inconvenience._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	8. Graduation

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

"Plite, Ryloss and Aradesh are this week's winners," Pyrus announced.

Thank goodness. If I can help it, I'm never going under Pyrus's thumb ever again. When he gets focused on you, it's like being under the concentrated beam of the Death Star, having all of your inefficiencies burned out of you like you were being smelted.

Of course, that also means more time for my main goal right now. To find that personal reason to fight the Empire because, as of right now? That search was fruitless. Reading the reports of what was going on in the Academy was a barren wasteland as far as I was concerned. A pair of senior students caught fraternizing in one of the bathrooms? Stupid kids. The chief maintenance officer caught stealing the snacks from a taskmaster's desk during routine inspection by the cameras? Stupid adult. Commandant Deenlark getting in hot water for not being more attentive with the Force Sensitives?

Okay, that one I got from looking at the Commandant's computer briefly while delivering a data-pad to his office, but still. Stupid Commandant.

Bottom line, I shouldn't be surprised. This is an Academy, not Imperial Intelligence and internally, I'm starting to panic. It feels dumb that I am, actually. But I am. I needed _something_. A reason to rise up, rebel, commit treason that wouldn't be dashed away like so many pieces of Alderaan in another few years. Because I'm starting to realize that the only real dog that I have in this fight is on the Empire's side. Pyrus is grooming me to do well, M7's the only real mother I have in this galaxy and Parter's my only friend. They're _all_ on the side of the Empire.

That's terrifying.

I need a reason to hate the Empire.

Well, not hate. Hate's a poor choice of words. I need something that makes me an enemy of the Empire because while I might hero worship Luke Skywalker, I genuinely don't want to disappoint Pyrus or let down Parter.

It doesn't have to be hate. Hate leads to the Dark Side. So, does fear, which only makes me more afraid in a way that makes me sick. If I had known the level a paranoia I'd end up living with going through with this plan, I may never had gone through with it.

Though a certain thought had occurred to me; Why don't I… _not_ defect?

Why don't I stick with the Empire?

Slavery in an age of droids, racial discrimination in an era of spaceflight, sanctioned mass murder. The list goes on. But I've never seen those. The worst I've ever experienced is classism and that was a nonfactor.

I'm already on this path. Why don't I stick with it? What else am I going to do with my life at this point?

If I'm discovered as overly force sensitive, they'll kill me. I got lucky because there were other, more potent sensitives to draw his attention away from me. But with the level of terror inhabiting me right now, I'm not going to get lucky a second time.

"Plite!" Pyrus barked, catching my attention. "Head to your station, Cadet!"

"Yes sir," I replied with a nod.

* * *

"Are you alright?" Parter asked. We were alone in the barracks, the others still in the recreation room. We preferred to leave early and avoid getting yelled at by Pyrus. "You've been very… distant."

"I've been," I paused briefly to pick the right word. "Thinking. Since the Emperor visited."

"What about?" Parter asked with a frown.

"I'm…reconsidering my choice of career," I admitted quietly.

"You're _what_?" Parter asked with a confused look. "You. You're thinking of giving up."

"I'm thinking about it," I confirmed with a nod. "Look, I don't know if you felt it. That…cold, dark feeling when he disembarked. Sent shivers up my spine and made me want to hide in my own shadow."

"I know I felt a little nervous," Parter admitted with a nod. "A little like that. I guess. But not to that level. What's that got to do with giving up?"

"If I succeed in joining the Storm Trooper corps, that's who I'll ultimately be serving," I explained, letting out a long breath. "And…I don't know how I'd feel about that."

"Well, that depends. What do you want out of life?" Parter asked with a frown.

"To be a good person, to protect the people of the Empire and to meet zeltron women," I replied in rote. "In that order."

"Well, okay," Parter shrugged. "Think about this. How does joining the Corps help you do those three things?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I mean, two and three are pretty easy to see, it's just number one that I'm having trouble with."

"Let me make sure I understand," Parter held up his hands to stop me. "You think, or at least suspect, that the Emperor is _not_ the noblest person in the galaxy, even though he kind of is, and that idea is making you reconsider your goal because you don't want your moral standing threatened by taking orders from him. Do I have that right?"

"Condescension aside." I folded my arms. "Yes, that's right."

"Alright, sorry," Parter hummed. "Well, there might be something to it, I guess. The military's not really a squeaky-clean operation. It's never been one. But Jet. You're not joining the Corps as a random grunt with no agency. You're going to be an _Officer_. You, at the lowest point, are going to be giving orders. You may be told to do something you don't like, but you're going to be the one to decide how that thing gets _done_."

"That doesn't mean I want to be given the order to do something outright evil or cruel," I explained with a sigh.

"Yeah, but if it would probably still be done," Parter shrugged. "If it's not you being given the order, it's someone else. What happens then?"

I was about to offer a quick retort. Sure, that idea doesn't take into account the butterfly effect and how things may never turn out the same _period_ if I never get put on, but that's not the point. By being in the Empire, I could still do good by virtue of being the one giving the orders. Good that may never have been done as a result of my quitting now. Honestly, that made sense to me.

"…good point," I finally said after thinking. "I'll…think about it."

"I hope you stay on in the Senior Academy," Parter replied. "I need someone I know I can trust there just to stay sane."

* * *

Read the reports. Nothing that isn't within the bounds of sane and reasonable.

I couldn't ever find the reports on the Force Sensitives, which I guess would be what I'm looking for. But no. I can't find it. The thought of diving into Pyrus's mind or into the head of one of the Ensigns or Sergeants to find a reason had occurred to me, but I think that, eventually, I'd run into the same problem as with my own memories. Too far in the past and they didn't even happen to me.

Take a breath.

Calm down.

Focus on what I need to do.

The first thing I need to do is get over this fear, or at least get it to a manageable level. I need to think rationally, or else I'm going to compromise myself before I even get to the graduation point.

What was it that Yoda told Anakin to do when he was concerned about Padme's death? Let go? Good advice, actually. Can't stop death so you shouldn't let it trouble you. For long. Ironically, if he had let go, he wouldn't have caused her death by crushing the windpipe, saving her life.

At least I think so. Butterfly effect. Actually, is the Butterfly effect even a thing with the Force involved? Coincidences…aren't. What people think of as coincidences are in reality the machinations of the galaxies largest Xanatos gambit put together by the force. Whether there's a point or if it's just for lulz is up for debate.

File that report, then that one. Okay, this one is for Taskmaster Irelia. Got it.

Put them on a datapad and unhooked it, beginning my march for her training area.

I can't just _let_ my fear go. I need it. The Emperor and the Inquisitors are always looking for Jedi or those _like_ Jedi and Jedi, who were phenomenally detached, don't really feel fear. The moment my fear disappears, the local Inquisitor is going to lock onto that like a proton torpedo. Unless I figure out the whole making-myself small technique, which I haven't. I know I haven't. Because when I do it, I feel like I'm looking at things from the perspective of a toddler and I won't be satisfied until I'm looking at _molecules_.

But if I don't find a way to calm down, then the force is going to give me away _anyway_ at some point. I'm screwed either way.

That thought is almost liberating.

Almost.

Taskmaster Irelia was drilling her Cadets on the obstacle course. On my way, I caught sight of Pyrus running my class into the ground. Irelia took her datapad without a word or even a look and I was summarily dismissed with a gesture.

Which was good, because I'm not sure how attentive I would've been and I didn't want to be PT'd. Back to my cubicle.

So, what is it that I need? If I want to continue on my path into the Empire, whether it leads to the Rebellion or somewhere else; I need to be able to calm down and think like a rational person and in order to do that, I need to be able to hide correctly, which means shrinking myself to the size of a single-celled organism.

Maybe I haven't been practicing that as much as I should've. I've been wanting to procure procedural memories more. Get better faster. Then again, given how I can hit a target mid-jump with the crappy stun-rifle, maybe I'm as good as I need to be right now.

My biggest fear, beyond losing who I am to the Empire's military indoctrination, is getting found and losing who I am to the Sith. The first one means I need a personal, burning conviction to actually turn on the Empire enough to overpower my friendship with Parter and the desire I have to make Pyrus proud. The second one just means that I need to know how to hide and how to hide _now_.

That just means practicing that and _exclusively_ that.

But I wouldn't have to if I leave the academy after this. No fear, no worry. Just…I'd need to find something else to do. Find something else. Find a way to join the Alliance to Restore the Republic and do…significantly less good than if I went through my initial plan. Just be another gun, but one fighting for the right side. But what would I do in the meantime? How the heck would I even go about joining them?

How would I join them even if I went through the Empire first? Faking my death would be a necessity to give me breathing room but then…where would I find them?

I did not think this plan through at _all_ and that's why I'm starting to come apart at the seams.

Back at my desk, I take a seat. No new reports. Thankfully. I could sit down and think.

Half of me wants to just leave. The other half wants me to stay and see this through. The first half is arguing that it's suicidal. The second says 'not if I stay with the Empire' and then the first reminds him of what happens to those caught as force sensitives. Then I get told I need to hide better and that I've got plenty of time before the Emperor's next visit.

In theory.

If I'm not kidding myself, I doubt I avoided the Emperor's detection. A throwaway thought said that maybe I amused him. Which would make running away a logical choice. Cutting ties with the Academy following junior year and then never gracing these halls with my presence ever again. But then what?

I don't actually know. I don't have anything else out there. Nothing really for me, I don't think. I don't know how I'd go about joining the Rebellion. I know Leia's on Alderaan, but I don't know if she would even handle recruitment. Then there's that other lady, Moth-something. I don't even _know_ where she's from. I'm not desperate enough to hitch a ride to the outer rim and hide out on Tatooine until Luke Skywalker gets the call to adventure, either. That's almost as dangerous as being in the academy, for different reasons, of course.

Why the heck would I stay? Because then I'd have amazing training, military competence and the tools needed to go my way in the galaxy.

I groaned to myself.

The biggest problem with the Empire is that it's ruled by Sheev Palpatine. That's it. It removed a _lot_ of the fat of the Republic, added some much-needed delegation in the form of Moffs and assuming that they're still a thing, set up the militarization of the Empire to fight the Yuuzhan Vong. If there was a more benevolent, or at least pragmatic, leader on the throne then I doubt the Empire would be so bad.

…crap, the Vong.

I haven't really thought about _them_ in a while. Are they still a thing? I hope they're not. I _hated_ that addition to Star Wars. But they're not going to be a thing for _decades_ more, I at least have time. If they're still a thing. I hope they're not.

You know, the Empire is set up to cause as much dissention near the top as possible to prevent people from looking at Palpatine's seat. Though so much of the Empire is influenced by Sith doctrine, if we could kill him and put someone else on the throne with everyone behind him?

I don't know who we could place up there. The only name that even comes to mind is _Thrawn_ , but the only thing I know about him is his name. I don't even know what _species_ the man is. But all this thought is pointless because this thinking about _deposing Palpatine_.

All of this hand-wringing is because where I'm standing? Right now? I want to stay with the Empire. I want to want to leave, but I don't want to leave. I've got my whole life tied into the Imperial Military right now and my plans involve me turning on everything I've ever known in this world.

Look, I'm not someone crippled by a surplus of empathy after a lifetime of none. I have friends. Allies. And they're in the Empire. Everything I love, in this lifetime, is in the Empire. And I…I don't want to throw it away for a half-baked, overly convoluted scheme to join the good guys.

 _That_ is what's scaring me right now. Because I know that means I'm signing up for the bad guys specifically to sign up for the bad guys. I don't like it. Not one bit.

* * *

Letting go is a very big thing with the Light Side of the force. I like to think that the modern Jedi Order simply took it too far with being completely detached to allow one to let go of…anything. I can understand being able to let go of a grudge lest you Captain Ahab your way to oblivion, it's part of why I _prefer_ the Light Side of the force.

Actually, I'm wondering if 'the Light Side' was ever a thing outside of EU. In the original trilogy, it was simply called 'the Force' and 'The Dark Side of the Force'. In that light, it makes it sound like the dark side is simply a cancerous growth in the force that needs to be excised for the general health of the Force and, given that the force is in _everything_ , for the general health of the galaxy at large.

Letting go is important.

Which is why I think I'm having trouble shrinking down past the size of a baby. I'm having trouble let go of my size. Of that part of me.

I was laying in my barracks late at night. The weekly evaluations had just gone by, I got second place. A little close for comfort, but I did it. But now I laid in bed, trying to relax, calm down and shrink my presence in the force.

Honestly, it's a miracle that I've even managed to get this far with only the vague memories of an EU book I hadn't read in almost a decade before my death. But more to the point, I…can't let go. I don't want to let go. Won't I lose who I am if I let go?

Many people seem to think so. Myself included. I mean, I know that emotion isn't a bad thing. Emotion and feelings that you can't let go of to see things objectively can be a bad thing. Can. My dislike of the Empire, my fear of being discovered. Fear is a vital survival mechanism, isn't it?

Of course it is.

I don't want to shrink to the size of a molecule, what if I get stepped on? In a less humorous analogy, if I stop being afraid of being caught by the Sith, would I even care if I get turned? I mean, if you let go of everything, you stop caring, right?

Making myself small limits what I can see of the bigger picture, I can already tell that. If I shrink to the size of the molecule, but I'll lose sight of what those particles make up. At least, in the Force. No rearranging a person's entire genetic structure just because I want to turn them purple. But it also means that, as far as the force is concerned, I'll be blind. I won't have precognition to help me avoid death or which blows I can take without impacting my eventual victory.

It would almost be like walking without a blindfold. Pretty sure they know I'm sensitive already, but not how much. Clearly not enough to bother with which I think gives me a bit a leeway. Besides, it's not like I'll need to keep myself _that_ small forever. Just small enough that I'm not ruled as overly force sensitive. To be honest, I can only see being cellular sized being necessary in fighting force users, like Sith. Or Jedi, depending on how things go.

I don't want things to go that way, but I don't want to leave the Empire, either.

How did I get myself into this situation?

Well, I didn't think things through. Or perhaps my naiveite prevented me from seeing just how sloppy this plan of mine was. I have the way out, but I don't want to take it. I'd almost prefer becoming the mask. Or helmet, as it were.

But ultimately, right now, I just want to stop being scared sick for my life. Either because I'm planning to defect or because I'm force sensitive. But I also want to impress and make proud those who I've come to care about. Yes, even M7, who I seriously doubt will ever remember me when I'm no longer listed as a permanent resident.

I need to let go.

In my previous life, I've let go of things by meditating before. Just sit still, calm your brain, find the issue that's causing you grief and then slowly, one by one, unhook it from your heart or head or throat or wherever you envision it being. Then once it's unhooked, it falls out of you and you're free.

But I'm having such a hard time unhooking the sheer paranoia that's gripped me about the clear and present danger that I've thrust myself into. I can't believe it took _Emperor Palpatine_ visiting the Academy to get to thinking about this. Because this is something I need to think about.

I mean, how kriffing idiotic was I to think that this was a good idea? I mean, the sheer idiocy of jumping into an Imperial Academy as a force sensitive when you know what happens to force sensitives in Imperial Academies? I mean, really? Did my brain leak out of my ears or is it just liquified and waiting for a hole to be shot through? Jet, you're a complete moron!

No, I just wanted to fight the evil empire alongside my childhood heroes.

It sounded so awesome, right? Go through the Empire as one of them, and then join the rebellion as a former Imperial Commando that fights alongside the rebellion while learning to become a Jedi alongside Luke Skywalker.

…that sounded so ridiculously Marty Stu I could barely comprehend that I ever thought it could happen. This is my reality now. And like a reality, there are so many complications and details that it could make one's head spin. The only thing that makes story book tropes _real_ in this galaxy is the Force.

Heh, I just realized that the Jedi is built around submitting oneself to the thing that makes story books come to life. That's actually hilarious.

Almost as funny as me wanting to remain Imperial. I almost want to let go just to get rid of the guilt that comes with the fact that I want to remain with the bad guys _as_ a bad guy. It feels downright horrible. I don't want to be a bad guy. Even if I have 'bad-guy traits', I want those to be _removed_. I don't want to be vengeful, I want to be forgiving. I don't want to be misanthropic, I want to be friends with everybody.

I don't want to be the bad guy.

But there's good people in the Empire, right? Well, I guess. There has to be. Everyone has to have _some_ shred of human decency or civilization would be impossible. Even if the Emperor has deliberately engineered the training and policies to be as much of a…rebellion spawner as possible.

…you know, suddenly, things make a lot more sense. The Empire as depicted in The Old Republic can't survive without an outside force to fight or it would just dissolve from the infighting. Given the current Empire's resemblance to it, it makes sense that the Emperor would actually desire rebellions, albeit ones that can be easily quashed when they've outlived their usefulness.

That literally is me just guessing, but it feels like it makes sense.

I want to fight the Empire.

I want to meet Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Leia Organa.

I really do.

But I want to make M7 and Pyrus proud.

I want to join Parter on the Star Destroyer.

I want to stop being afraid that my intentions to defect will be discovered.

I want a good _life_ outside of some nebulous goal to switch sides in the future.

 _I want to stay in the Empire._

That single, clarifying moment was everything I needed. My perception of the force _shrunk_ as everything around me grew, the release of so much fear and doubt allowing me to fall, to feel the very particles that made up the blanket I was under.

I felt small. I felt _invisible_. I felt good.

And with this release came a simple, clear revelation about the Empire around me.

I can't turn on the Empire with everything I love being inside it. But if the Empire is evil? Truly, disgustingly evil? It won't be long before it gives me all the reason in the galaxy to turn on it, and it will give me that reason on a silver platter.

But until then?

I'll go about my studies and duties in peace.

* * *

"This year, we offer congratulations," Commandant Deenlark said from the pulpit to the gathered students in the courtyard. "We congratulate those in our Junior course who have made it this far, for if they so choose, they can join their Senior students in furthering their education. If they don't, they have still earned their victories today, for they have walked from these halls better, stronger, and more fit to serve our glorious empire."

Around this time, I tuned out the Commandant. I don't care _what_ this man has to say outside of a classroom. Next to me, standing at as stiff attention as I was, was Parter. Both of us had made it to the senior class, and both of us were going onto the Senior academy. He was doing exactly what he had set out to do all those months ago; joining the Navy.

That was his plan, anyway.

I ended up making that insane percentage that I'm _partially_ sure that Pyrus made up. But a couple of times, it was close and I made it into third place almost three-quarters of the time, but I did it. No more crazy, insane physical training until I dropped dead because he wanted to help me out. Though he _did_ help me out. In the one way I wish he didn't, but he did help me out.

Eventually, the Commandant _finally_ had the good manners to sit down and let the Academy's Orchestra play the Imperial March, which is a thing here. And it's awesome. Very, very awesome. Eventually, the ceremony ended, and we were dismissed.

Senior class starts in two weeks. My bags were packed.

"We made it," I said.

"Yeah," Parter nodded, his bag at his feet. "I'm glad you decided to stick around. I was worried for a second."

"I'm a little surprised, to be honest," I confessed, rocking my head back and forth. "Wasn't sure I would."

We were waiting for Parter's shuttle to take him home. His would arrive before mine, due to complications with the flight paths or something. I dunno, M7 can clarify when she gets here. But that meant sticking around.

"Glad you did," Parter said.

I looked around and…oh. There was Pyrus, talking with another Taskmaster, Tiller. "Hey, give me a second. I'm going to go ask Pyrus something."

"Alright," Parter shrugged.

I ran up to the older clone and saluted. "Taskmaster Pyrus. Sir."

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, what is it, Officer Candidate?"

Oh, right. That was my new rank. OC. Fun. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

He looked at me and frowned before turning to Taskmaster Tiller. "I'll be right along, don't wait for me."

"Alright Pyrus," Tiller was a short man with a pot belly, which signified either genetics or a heavy drinking problem. "See you in the lounge."

"Permission granted," Pyrus told me after Tiller had left earshot.

"Be honest with me, Sir," I began. "Did you make up the 70% statistic?"

"Yeah, I did," Pyrus said with a nod and a smile. "It worked out pretty well, I think."

"Thank you, sir," I told him with another salute.

"Don't thank me," Pyrus corrected. "You can save that for when you get into the Corps."

"Yes sir," I nodded.

"Dismissed, Officer Candidate."

Well. I appreciated his honesty.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: I think I'm going to start skipping through the years now, since Senior Academy is three years long. It has been noted that normally officers get into the senior track at the age of 16, something Jet falls short of, but on the Canon wiki, those who complete the junior course are stated to immediately jump ship to the senior academy, so I decided to compromise. However, the exact start date of the senior academy is an easy edit, so if it seems weird still, I can change stuff around. Won't take me long._

 _Everyone, please welcome_ Valphrim _as our newest super patron and_ Megrisvernin _as the newest member of our circle of patrons. You guys are amazing. Thank you for your patience and your support._

 _Shout out also goes out too_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, _and_ Jiopaba. _Your continued support helps me out a great deal. Thank you, guys._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my Pa tre on_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _For those of you whom are reading this on FFnet, the link is www dot pa tre on dot com slash fulcon. I am sorry it's not in a better form, FF despises my links and I can't get them to work. Thank you for your interest and I'm sorry for the inconvenience._

 _~Fulcon_


	9. Year One

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

Senior Academy was a lot more in line with what I had expected the Junior Academy to be like. The Taskmasters were a lot stricter, a lot louder and a lot more demanding overall. At least understanding that these instructors were trying to keep me _alive_ by teaching me correctly made it bearable. Just barely, though.

On my first day here, I had met with the Office of Student Outcomes, where they asked me what I wanted to do. Naturally, being a Storm Trooper, the thing that's motivated me to go through this whole endeavor in the first place. Sergeant Makor, a very large man, bald and pale, looked me straight in the eye when I said this.

Then he told me what classes I'd need to do well in to make it to the Corps. First thing was doing well in CQC and Marksman classes are taught each year of the senior track and I would need to do well in each year. Laser Canon Operation and Speeder-bike piloting would be taught in the Second and third year and would also be required to pass. This made sense to me, since Scout Troopers and heavy gun emplacements were a thing.

Destroyer-class Operations, though. _That_ , according to Sergeant Makor, was the make it or break it point. That surprised me, since I thought that would be the Navy's priority, but Sergeant Makor told me that Legions of Storm Troopers weren't assigned to planets, but to Star Destroyers. Learning how to encircle a ship captured by the Tractor Beam, boarding enemy capital ships and repelling boarders ourselves, should it come to that, were all a vital part of being a Storm Trooper, and if I couldn't do Operations, then I couldn't do the Storm Troopers arguably most important job. I had until Third Year to actually worry about that, though, thankfully.

I was told that Core Worlds Classical Culture might be useful, but he doubted it would matter. Since I was an orphan with no interest in Politicking, it was much more likely that I'd be put on track for Special Forces than Command, which was just perfect for me. Tie-fighter piloting was just meh, only useful in keeping my score total up and in rare emergencies. Science and Math, of course were required and taught each year.

Yeah, there was a total score. Grades were points. Back of my mind, I thought of Harry Potter, but it's quite a bit different here. There's no 'house' system, points were awarded to individuals for academic achievement. Those with the highest points in the school would be eligible to go to the Ball at the end of the year.

There's a Ball. My feelings on it are mixed. On the one hand, I need to learn how to talk to girls and that means inviting them to the ball since dating between cadets is heavily discouraged. I mean, heavily. I saw that during my days in Deenlark's work detail.

Our barracks is actually a lot nicer than the old one, being four to a room. My stuff was stowed away in the locker at the foot of my bed. It was an actual bed. A very thin bed with thin sheet, but it was better than the Junior academy bunk. Much, much better.

The bad part about this? Parter wasn't in my class. I mean, I guessed that would be the case, but I hope he's going to be alright. He's locked into his path now and I think he relied on me a little bit too much. Emotional support and all that.

I laid down on my bed, unable to sleep. My brain, unfortunately, would not, could not, shut off.

It just occurred to me that I've been born and raised on Coruscant, which means I've got an evil Coruscanti…what was the old nationality…brita…britty… _british_. I have an evil, British accent. A throwaway thought about getting an accent coach to give me a Corellian accent passed through my head without fanfare, but then something else came up.

I need to learn how to speak binary and maybe Wookie. The first one just because communicating with astromech's would be insanely helpful and would likely be the one that happens regardless. Speaking Wookie is just because having to watch the original trilogy without knowing what Chewbacca was saying annoyed me.

…honestly, putting the ball of my defection into the Empire's court was completely liberating on a _cellular level_. It felt so impossibly good to just not worry about my nonexistent plans to defect forcing me to think about slaughtering what few friendships I have. Now I just have to worry about completing the absurdly difficult curriculum set before me.

From the reports that I read and the various trends I noticed, I believe that COMPnor can and will target friendships to ruin. No actual proof, but that's the impression I'm getting. Guided partially by the force. Not entirely sure of the purpose behind that operating procedure, I mean, even something patently stupid-evil has to have a purpose. At least one beyond feeding the Emperor's insatiable appetite for fear and terror which is a thing for dark-side users.

At least, I think it is. I still haven't figured out if I'm in Disney Canon, Legends, or a mix of the two. But that's big picture problems and I need to focus on the right now. Like surviving the Senior Track. Now, because I don't have friends really, beyond Parter who is in another class, I don't think COMPnor is going to be trying to mess with me all that much. Which is a good thing, the last thing I want to do here is make waves.

I'll save that for when I get to my platoon, wherever that is. For now, though, it was time to study, work and struggle until my limbs fall off and my brain melts out of my ears.

* * *

"Hey…Jet, right?" One of my roommates asked from his seat in the center of the room. This was Werner, hailing from an Imperial outpost on Alzoc III. He was unnaturally pale and his copper-tone hair gave the impression that it was always groomed perfectly, academy or no. My understanding is that he's the son of an Admiral. He surprised me by _not_ being a complete bantha-wipe. "You want to join us for Sabaac?"

"No," I replied with a nod, looking up from my data-pad. Math was just as much a demon now as it was in my previous life. "But thanks for the offer."

"Alright," He shrugged and went back to the game.

I had three roommates, of course. Werner was one. The others were Sullivan and Azel, a pair of twin brothers that were native to Coruscant. Sullivan was large and tall, cutting an imposing figure when he stood over you with the look that said 'Move or I will move you'. His black hair was buzzed down in classic military fashion. Azel, his brother by contrast, was average size. A bit bigger than me, sure, but only as tall. He had a full head of black hair which only fit within academy regulations by the smallest of centimeters.

They were all sitting on the floor with the cards set between them. I didn't gamble. Not without a guarantee that I'd get something out of it and regulations were against it anyway. Saying so, however, would cause unnecessary friction in the room and I didn't need that. With that in mind, I might warn them before inspections happen, but I just need to make sure I'm not in the room when they get busted. Guilt by association is not a good thing.

…also need to make sure everything I have is locked down so I don't get anything planted in my stuff. I'd hate to get taken down in a 'you're going down with me' scenario if the others are bitter enough to do so. Given where I am, they just might.

Why am I staying here?

Don't think about that, just focus on getting your work done. You can have the luxury of drifting off when math doesn't make you want to pull your hair out and shoot blood out of your eyes from the strain. The harder and smarter I work; the easier things will be in the long run.

Easi _er_. I mean, it's never going to be a cakewalk. It'll get that way when I get past senior track and into the Storm Trooper academy. Then it'll get even harder. _Then_ after that, I should be ready to handle all the problems that come my way, no matter how hard they are.

Should. Probably.

You know, I'm actually wondering how long I'll actually last once I get assigned to a Legion. Because Storm Troopers are going to be the ones doing the oppressing the Empire is famous for. Which means that eventually, sooner or later, I'm going to be given that reason to defect. Likely before I become a SCAR Trooper.

Let's not think about that right now. I mean, it might never even happen.

…There's a thought. What if my reason to defect from the evil Empire never comes? I seriously doubt every person I ever serve under will be a crazy, power obsessed-oh who am I kidding? _This is the Empire._ It's more likely than not that I'm going to get someone crazy.

But honestly, it's not like I even have a _way_ to defect anyway. I mean, I can go find Obi-wan on Tatooine but he's going to be busy protecting Luke and I've got another…what, ten years? I don't even know if the Alliance to Restore the Republic has been organized yet. I could have way until, I don't know, the very year that Luke joins up.

All of this hand-wringing could be completely pointless if I don't have anything to join when I actually defect. So really, everything is just a waiting game and that's _fine_ with me.

"How's are the maths coming?" Sulliven called from his seat on the floor, shaking me from my reverie.

"They're coming along," I grumbled, settling back into work.

He's right, I'm trying to make sense of all these stupid numbers...okay, reread that section again. Doesn't quite make sense. Again? No...okay, skip ahead and see if something else makes sense. Through this, my focus ended up slipping right back to my original thoughts.

Focus. SCAR won't take just anyone. They've got a minimum service requirement of three tours before they'll even look at you. I need a specialization to take in the meantime. At first I wanted to be a Spacetrooper, but they don't even have a _branch_ for that yet. The closest I have is the Jet Trooper, which get a jump pack. Not even a true jet pack, a _jump_ pack. In order to get into there, I need to score well on the math tests because learning how to fly a jet pack is understanding trajectory and other physics stuff in order to fly safely.

Will I even _make_ it to SCAR before I get hit with the cold, dark reality of the Empire?

The fact that I'm even anticipating that there's a cold, dark reality that's going to hit me in the face is just one of the many indicators of how stupid my situation even is. I know it's bad, but it hasn't been bad to _me_. How selfish am I?

Pretty selfish.

I need a break. I'm driving myself crazy, here.

"Who's winning?" I turned to the group. I wasn't going to play…but I could watch.

* * *

Well, I can't say this is unexpected.

"You did that on purpose!" Azel shouted at Sulliven, proving braver than I was when he was in his significantly taller brothers face.

"I didn't do a _thing_ , Azel," Sulliven glared down at his brother, arms folded. "You just made a mistake with the igniter."

In class today, we were assembling E-11's, shooting them, and then taking them apart again for the next person in line. Sulliven was ahead of Azel and ended up having some trouble with the power cell. He fiddled with it a bit longer than necessary before ejecting it. The cell burnt out, rendering the blaster unusable and now this argument was the result.

I'm almost tempted to believe one of them _did_ do something, tensions have been rising between them over the past few months. The fact that _now_ is when things blew up is a testament to their brotherly bond. Or their self-control. One of the two. The only thing stopping me from simply blaming one or the other is that I _know_ COMPnor had their eyes on these two for a while. I felt it through the force.

"You didn't do a thing? Yeah, right." Azel glared up at his brother. "I don't know what's going on with you-"

"With me?" Sulliven looked angry. "Don't pin this on me, _you're_ the one that's been getting jealous, Azel."

"Jealous? Of what, your empty-" Azel looked livid.

"Guys," I interrupted, deciding that peace in the room was more important than elevating myself above the machinations of the academy. "The Academy deliberately looks for friendships to sabotage. You guys are brothers, so they targeted you."

"Oh really?" Azel looked at me with a sniff. "What proof do you have?"

"I got on the Junior work detail for the Commandant," I told him with a shrug. "I read lots and lots of reports-"

"Yeah, yeah. We get it, we've both done the work detail," Sulliven said dismissively. "What does that have to do with the blaster exploding?"

"It's a suspicion, but they had reports on cadets and candidates who, well, became friends," I replied. "Like, anything. Whether they shared a lunch, whether someone was passing notes, if they were helping each other. Anything. And the reports were always worded in such a way to say that this was negative."

"That's stupid," Sulliven shook his head and glared at me.

"It is, but that's the academy for you," I said. "They actively drive out any bonds you have to anyone besides the Empire."

"No, as in, I don't believe you," Sulliven turned to face me fully. "That's completely stupid. The Empire restored order and peace to the galaxy after the Republic threw everything into anarchy. There's no way they'd start doing…that."

I blinked. "Alright. Forget I said anything."

Ugh. Right. I'm fighting against the grain here. Oh well. I think I got my first taste of why I ever had the plan to leave the Empire anyway. Emulate Kyle Katarn. But I'm not going to worry about that right now. Nope, nope, nope. Not worrying about joining the rebel alliance. No thank you.

I laid back on my bed. Thankfully, they stopped arguing, heading off to their desks to do whatever. Then the door opened and Werner walked in, looking more tired than I've seen him the whole time.

"Hey, Werner," I gave him a wave when it became clear neither of the two brothers were going to greet our new arrival. "What's up?"

"Nothing, nothing," Werner answered, running his fingers through his hands. "The taskmaster wanted to talk to me, is all."

"What about?" I asked, sitting. "If you care to share, that is."

"Just stuff," He shrugged, looking at the other two, who were preoccupied with their datapad's before moving to his own desk.

Well, alright then.

Oh, I can't wait to get to active duty so I can make some actual friends. This crap that COMPnor is pulling off while we're here would just make it too risky – no point in striking up a friendship while outside forces are outwardly conspiring against you. Right? Right.

Seeing what it's doing to the twins is starting to make me just…dislike this whole situation. I wonder why COMPnor didn't do anything about the cliques in Junior track or about me and Parter. Maybe it's because ages fourteen to nineteen are the best time to use those kinds of tactics. Or maybe we flew under the radar because of circumstances I'm not aware of.

…I miss Pyrus. At least I knew he wasn't actively trying to screw me. I think the man _liked_ me in his own way, actually, uh…nope. No force bond. At least not one that I can sense. Good, I'm relieved, actually. I almost felt insanely bad just now.

* * *

 _Author's Note: This chapter is short. It's really just a collection of expositional snippets, really. I've decided that I'm going to be doing a year of senior academy a chapter, so next chapter will either finish off this year or just be the next one. The reason that I'm doing this is because, well, I don't really see a way to do a full-on arc out of the senior academy without rehashing_ everything _that I've done here._

 _Shout out goes out too_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba _and_ Valphrim. _Thanks guys, your support means more to me than I can even say._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my pa tre on_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	10. Year Two

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

You know what was surprisingly a lot of fun?

The flight simulator.

Basically, it was a mock-up of a Tie Fighter cockpit with a display unit attached to the front where the window is supposed to be. There were enough of these to suit an entire class, so we were all in Pilot Uniforms (again, mock-ups), filed into these cockpits and formed into five six-man squadrons.

Sim, Ima, Lie, Del, and Hal squadrons, specifically. I was Sim 3, Werner was the lead as Sim 1 and four others whose names I never bothered to learn. COMPNor was targeting friendships, after all, so what was the point? I mean, it makes meditation to get over the loneliness that much more important and makes me look forward to the rebellion where I can make some actual friends. Or try too.

The fact that I'm still planning on leaving depresses me for a little bit. But the decision's not on me, it's waiting for the Empire to do something stupid to get over the ties I have with Pyrus and co. I wonder how long I'll last once I actually get _into_ the corps…

Whatever. Focus on the now.

We were simulating an escort mission where our squadrons were each flying around an imperial freighter each with a Star Destroyer flying behind and over us. Objective, of course, is to get the freighters to a space station and there were pirates apparently hitting convoys from point A to point B. The names didn't actually matter, this was a simulation.

"Sim 3, 4 and 6, take a position underneath the freighter," Werner ordered over the comms. "Watch for an attack from beneath."

Well, that move just earned him a point or two. Good for him. "Roger. Taking position under the freighter."

I slowed my fighter down, allowing the squad and freighter to pass ahead of me before speeding up again and angling my control stick to face downward and taking my spot at the head of the small arrow formation. Honestly, I think the fact that fighters in Star Wars have the ability to slow down and speed up on a dime, even in space where there's nothing to actually _help_ it slow down, is really cool. Makes it easier to fly too, I would thing.

The best part though?

I'm in _space_.

This is only a simulation but it's heralding things to come. Before me in the cockpit stretched out the infinite vastness of the galaxy far, far away like a canvas painted with diamonds. The impossible vastness of it all, knowing how large each sun was and how they were only tiny pinpricks whose light would only reach me at that moment after who knows how long of travel was honestly humbling. This was a galaxy, a _real_ galaxy and it almost brought a tear to my eye. It definitely brought a smile to my face, though.

I love space.

"We're taking fire!" The freighter pilot shouted over the comms. It was a canned, prerecorded response, but it still made me jump in my seat. I moved my fighter searching for the fighter, just like the rest of my squad.

"At ease, squad," Werner growled. "It was just one of the Ties from another squad."

Oh. Whew. Okay then. I eased up and returned to my position.

"Lie 4, what are you doing out here?" Werner asked with irritation in his voice. Lie 4's

"Lie 1 told me to patrol the whole formation," Azel, Lie 4 was patched through to our comms. "Take a sweep and see if there's anything we need to be worried about. I was just messing around with the blasters though."

Werner waited for a minute before responding. "Right. Tell Lie 1 we've got things covered over here and get back to your squad."

"Will do. Sorry," Azel replied and I saw his Tie head back to the freighter on the opposite side of the formation.

"Everyone catch that?" Werner asked. "Friendly fire is possible. Watch for sabotage."

Ah. Got it. That makes sense. Lie wants to see if it can do something.

In this exercise, everyone in the squad received ten points if their freighter makes it to the station. Interestingly, dying doesn't disqualify you from receiving points, only losing the freighter. Since most students in the class don't want to be forced into the Imperial Army, they all wanted to get ahead to the top of the class. Which meant taking other students down as much as it meant building yourself up. If we lose the freighter, we lose ten points out of our possible total, leaving more room for the others to climb. I had the distinct impression that if we all died, the other squads would descend on the freighter like a swarm of hornets and blow it to pieces.

The fact that we can lose our whole squad and still get points would be kind of funny if it wasn't part of the slow indoctrination of the idea that 'you are disposable, only the Empire matters'. It didn't matter if we died, only that the mission was completed. That bothered me, as it should. But since this is only a simulation, it doesn't really matter if I die here, does it?

It does not.

Got to love the view, though. By the Force, I love the view.

Suddenly, my sensor suite lit up.

…oh no.

"Pirate capital ship just came out of hyperspace!" Werner barked into the coms. "It's deploying fighters! Assume vertical defensive pattern!"

Werner's really caught on to the fact that we're in space and attack can come from any position. A vertical defensive pattern is just an orbit around the craft being guarded, going up and down. Technically, a standard pattern would be fine as well since it would take the exact same amount of time going either way to chase attackers going up and down. But it's the thought that counts, I guess.

"We've got fighters inbound!" Sim 2, so identified on the coms panel, shouted. On my radar, I could see multiple groups, one for each freighter, while the capital ships were duking it out above us. Skiprays. Nasty assault fighters that undoubtedly were packing proton torpedoes.

"Sim 2, 3 and 4, move to intercept," Werner ordered. "The rest of us will stay with the freighter to stop anyone trying to get around you."

"Roger," I replied alongside my wing-mates, exiting the guard pattern and moving to intercept.

The problem that I have right now is that I'm moving to attack an assault fighter in a _Tie_. Werner's obviously overestimating our chances here, if the simulation is completely true to life as far as damage is concerned.

With the scream of the Tie's engines behind me, our trio crashed into the five assault fighters inbound. My blaster canons raging, I let loose bolt after bolt on an on-coming fighter before pulling away from our impromptu game of chicken, barely dodging out of the way of the hail of red coming after me.

He's on my tail. Great.

"I've got one on me," I say into the comms unit, not entirely concerned. I don't think I'm going to get blasted here, actually, since all the shots seem to be going wide. If the AI or Droid or whatever's in charge of this simulation could hit something, I'd have been blown to space dust by now.

"I've got one on me!" Sim 4, on the other hand, seemed a lot more stressed out about being tailed.

"They've got shields!" Sim 2 shouted, sounding both distressed _and_ annoyed.

You know, something I had to get used too with the Senior course is that the classes are co-ed. Sim 2 was one of the girls in my class. A popular one too, if I'm placing her voice right. Rarely is she ever not the center of attention.

I see Sim 4, his pursuer, Sim 2 and his pursuer pass in front of me. Right, no help is coming and we're dealing with bullet sponges. I hate those. Bright side, if three are dealing with us, the two that split off to attack the freighter are outnumbered.

"We're taking fire!" The canned response of the freighter sounded.

Time to shake the guy on my tail.

I turn sharply to the left, cork-screwing in mid-air which just so happened to save my solar foils from getting hit by blaster fire. Facing my pursuer, I let loose multiple shots onto his cockpit and nothing happened, because shields. I arced up just over the skipray, turning sharply to the right as he passed. I'm behind him now and with the tables turned, I gleefully unload into his engines until he wizened up and turned down and to the left.

With a smirk, I followed him. Dirty pirate's going to get blasted. I wonder how much more punishment his shields can take before I finally rip through to his shields.

"I can't shake him!" Sim 4 shouted.

You know, if we go a man down this early in the simulation, that's going to be very bad. Alright, where is he?

I look at my scanners before find him directly above me. I wanted to stay within 5 kilometers of the freighter and not go on a wild goose chase, so I check that before pulling up to go help out my squad-mate. The fighter I was dueling with has reoriented himself to follow me as I moved up.

Sim 2 passed over me as I oriented my Tie-Fighter to take shots at the Skipray.

"We're taking damage!" The freighter announced over the comms.

"I'm hit!" Sim 6 shouted before his dot on my scanners disappeared.

Karabast.

With the offending Skipray locked onto, I laid into it with green blaster bolts. Combined with fire from Sim 2, the thing's shields went down immediately and he took the kill. With that out of the way, I turned directly around and flew down, passing over the ship that had followed me up.

"Contact eliminated," Sim 2 announced on the comms, sounding relieved.

No thank you? Eh, whatever. This simulation is hard.

The skipray I was shooting at took off like a rocket and I was getting too far away from the freighter, so I peeled off and went for the other one that Sim 2 and 4 were both dancing around.

"We're taking fire!" The freighter's canned dialogue letting us know it was under attack was starting to annoy me.

Let's take that thing out.

"Colli-!" Werner shouted, his dot disappearing from my scanners before he could finish his word.

That's very unfortunate. We've lost our commanding officer. Bright side, we lost him because the assault fighter had pathing issues or whatever, and lost enough shields to get destroyed by the impact. Two down, three to go. We outnumber them by one.

"Sim 1 is down. I'm in command," Sim 2 announced.

"What? No, you're not," Sim 5 argued back.

Well, that's just perfect. Whatever, I think Sim 3 and myself have got this in hand until we reach the station while Sim 2 and 5 both wage their own war of succession on the coms. The worst part is that I couldn't afford to mute them because their shouting match has gotten truly annoying. At the very least, I could tune them out…and turn the comm volume way down.

There's only one Tie Fight guarding the Freighter. Until a clear line of command has been established, I'm going to head back to the freighter to assist Sim 5 in dealing with the other skipray. As I got closer, I saw Sim 5 chasing the skipray across the freighter's length.

I take the shot at the ray, hitting it three times and nearly grazing Sim 5's right solar wing. But then I re-oriented my course and followed the skip. I was kind of mystified that he was still flying as well as he was while he was still arguing with Sim 2. Some people are just born fliers, I guess.

The skipray entered my sights as it dodged out of Sim 5's hail of blaster bolts. I squeezed the triggers on my grips and found myself thoroughly relieved as the ship went up in flames.

"Enemy contact eliminated," I reported to the comms. "Two left."

Sim 5 didn't look like he was going to be moving from the freighter, so I peeled off, hoping that he was paying enough attention to prevent sabotage. A bright flash to the side of my cockpit sent my heart into my throat, but my freighter was still on my sensors. That wasn't mine. Thank the Force.

…why do I get the feeling some of the other students were going to start attacking other freighters out of spite? I think some of the other students are going to attack my freighter out of spite.

"Contact eliminated," Sim 4 reported, the only person who I hadn't turned way down. Awesome.

Then his Tie was blown up and the last skipray flew through the wreckage like an action hero. Not awesome. I locked on target and chased after the thing, letting green blaster bolts loose on the thing to try to take out it's shields. It swerved to the right but I didn't lose my target. Blast after blast hit it in the engines until finally the shield broke and it exploded.

…wait.

The explosion is the wrong way to have come from my blasts.

Then Sim 2 flew past the wreckage. "Contact eliminated, Sim 3."

She sounded _very_ smug. Whatever though, it doesn't matter. All the enemy fighters are destroyed, now we just got to protect our freighter from the oncoming duo of Ties from squad Ima. And they are going to cause problems, because our freighter actually has a sparking hole in its hull and I'm not sure it's shields are all that strong right now.

"Ima squad, if you fire on our freighter, we'll fire on you," I told them over the comms.

"Kriff you," was the reply from Sulliven.

He sounded _mad_. Just got to wait…wait…and…there, he's opened fire. A couple shots from me and his tie exploded into a million pieces, then his partner. See, unlike the Skiprays, Ties went down really easy.

I oriented myself back around to the Freighter and assumed a guard pattern. With a great deal of joy, I saw the Pirate ship jump away to hyper space. The space station was in sight, this simulation was almost over. The three of us remaining took an inverted triangle guard formation around the freighter.

Did those two stop arguing?

They did stop arguing. Okay, I can turn them back up again. Hallelujah.

There was only one other freighter that survived. Presumably, the other two were taken out when their guards were removed by the Assault fighters. Squad Ima lost theirs due to falling for a diversionary tactic and chasing kills, I'm assuming. The other freighter had three guards ties remaining, just like us, which meant it was likely too risky for them to make a move on us and we can't make a move on them.

I think I can just sit back and enjoy the beautiful, starry skybox of this great simulation.

* * *

"You know the biggest surprise I had coming to Senior track from Junior?" Werner said, collapsing his cards into a pile and holding them down against his leg. "How hard aiming was. Did not think things would be that different."

"I hear you," I nodded, doing the same with my cards. We were playing sabaac, but no credits at stake. I straight up told the guy I wouldn't gamble and he was fine with it. Honestly, surprised about that. People who play cards usually want something from it. "Aiming up the well at targets that I knew exactly where they were, again and again, week after week? Completely different from moving targets that changed positions."

After the simulation we went to mess, then on to the marksman training. There, we went through an obstacle course with a rifle in hand, shooting at training drones that flew around shooting back. How well we did was dependent on how often we hit our targets versus how often we got shot. The drones shifted positions, shot us in groups and basically made our lives difficult as we tried to get to the end and then back again.

"I thought I was an amazing shot," Werner shook his head before revealing the next card. "I hit every target every time, and now I actually have to _try_ to aim."

"The adjustment's kind of weird, I agree," I said. I looked over the cards in my hand and the cards on the table. My hand was garbage now. "I'll fold."

Sulliven and Azel were sitting at their desks doing homework. They hadn't even really spoken to each other for the past month from what I've seen and they both believe the other's trying to sabotage them. From what I understand, Azel destroyed Sulliven's freighter with a quick bombing run and ended up shot by one of the Skiprays on his getaway. Ima responded by attacking Lie's freighter and Lie lost literally everyone as a result of the combined offensive. Survivors of Ima's squad then moved to the next freighter, ours, and were picked off by, well, me. Both of their sour moods were amplified by being taken into COMPnor's office and being given the dressing down of their lives for trying such blatant sabotage.

Remember, it's only sabotage if you get caught.

Both of their sour moods were amplified by being taken into COMPnor's office and basically given the dressing down of their lives for trying such blatant sabotage.

Remember, it's only sabotage if you get caught.

Both of their sour moods were amplified by being taken into COMPnor's office and basically given the dressing down of their lives for trying such blatant sabotage.

Remember, it's only sabotage if you get caught.

"Alright." Werner shrugged, grabbing the cards and shuffling them. "I think you're a lot better at Pazaak."

"I am," I nodded. "It's easier to wrap my head around for one."

"Shame no one plays it anymore," Werner said. "I think the last tournament was…what? A thousand years ago? Back when the Republic wasn't a rotting mess and that criminal gang was still around? What were they called, Jedi?"

"Yes," I nodded. The official story is a load of bantha piss and everyone older than the Empire knows that it's bantha piss. Well, at least the ones that actually knew the Jedi. Sadly, in a galaxy where the population numbered in the hundreds of quadrillions, if not almost to the quintillions, not a lot of people knew the Jedi. Those who did have either defected or are keeping very, very quiet. "That's what they were called."

"What a weird name for a criminal gang." Werner shook his head, dealing me a pair of cards and laying three on the table. "But I guess the galaxy has all types, right?"

"Yup," I replied with a nod. "By the way, how did the crash happen?"

"Where I killed one of the pirates?" Werner asked with a smirk. "I was being dumb and flying straight at it with my blasters blazing. I didn't realize it wasn't going to pull away until it was too late."

"It was worth it," I told him.

"You think so?" Werner asked with a frown.

"One for one while we out number them? Oh yeah," I said with a nod. "The only problem is that it left us without a commanding officer but it didn't matter that much here."

"I think it's weird that the only survivors were Mira and Colin," Werner said with his lip in a flat line.

"I guess," I stretched out and looked at the cards in my hand. "That was Sim 2 and 5, right?"

"You don't even know their names?" Werner asked with a chuckle.

"Seriously?" Azel looked up at me from his spot at the desk.

"You guys are the only people I really know," I explained with a shrug. "But that's just because we share a room. Everyone else is a distraction."

"Wow," Werner was laughing again. "That's funny. I knew you tuned people out a little, but that's some next level stuff right there."

"Why is it funny?" I asked with a blink.

"Mira hates you," Sulliven offered. "She likes attention and you don't give her any."

"I barely notice her," I replied with a shrug. "I mean, she's nice to look at – very nice to look at, but again. Distractions."

She was, actually. Beautiful brown hair, a great tan, beautiful athletic body, curves in all the right places as far as I could tell. But again, no point in trying anything. Besides, I don't want anything to do with someone _that_ petty.

"…are you still holding onto that crazy conspiracy theory?" Sulliven asked with a frown.

"No," I lied. "I just want to graduate at the top. No time for anything else."

"You're playing cards," Azel pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Almost no time for anything else."

* * *

 _Author's Notes: I am never forgetting to take my Depression meds again. If I don't take them, I can't write because everything is blocked and I just want to bang my head into a wall until its stained red. Or play League of Legends. One of the two, whichever is more painful._

 _Anyway, this is year two. I feel like it's necessary to skip through the school days because I don't really have many actual ideas for the school part because I feel like I've said all I need to say. That said, if I start getting ideas for the senior academy, I'll see what I can do about writing them. But honestly, I don't have much more to say._

 _I do think that Jet's crazy, though._

 _Shout out goes out too_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, K5Josh, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Alec, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba _and_ Valphrim. _Thank you guys so much for your support!_

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my pat re on_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _For those of you whom are reading this on FFnet, the link is www dot pa tre on dot com slash fulcon. I am sorry it's not in a better form, FF despises my links and I can't get them to work. Thank you for your interest and I'm sorry for the inconvenience._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	11. Year Three

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

I knew I should've paid more attention to that girl.

Well, no. I didn't, actually. I blew her off for the big picture, but the devil is in the details and now I'm paying for it.

In my hands, I held a melted and smoking power cell. I could feel the Sergeant looking over my shoulder with a serious air of disapproval. Not necessarily directed at me, because he _knew_ what happened, but neither of us had a way to prove it, so he was annoyed that I wasn't watching my stuff more closely.

"No points, Plite!" Sergeant Taro, a shorter than average man with a very stocky build was glaring at me as I turned to face him. He was also shouting, as was normal when a mistake was made. "Next time, watch your equipment and make sure the parts aren't faulty!"

"Yes, Sergeant," I replied stiffly. I took my eyes off my equipment to look at what Werner was doing for a minute and this is the result. I shouldn't have become distracted.

"Twenty push-ups! Now!" Sergeant Taro barked.

"Assuming forward position, Sergeant," I replied, doing as I was ordered.

After my twenty was complete, he walked off.

What was her name? Starts with an M? She looked very pleased with herself in the corner. She's been over there the whole time, so I can't just up and accuse her even though it was her machinations that caused my equipment failure. I wonder who she got to do her dirty work for her?

Wasn't Werner and it wasn't Ryder and those two were right next to me. Whatever. Not going to waste time going for the revenge play, which is what she's _hoping_ I'll do. Instead, I'm going to work on identifying, oh-him.

Carp something was one of the few people left in our class since it's fallen to about a third of its total. He was my height with blonde hair and green eyes. He looked like the younger version of the guy on every romance holo-novel everywhere. Does not surprise me that what's-her-name was able to get him to do things.

Okay. Now that I've figured that out, time to make sure that he's nowhere near my stuff for future tests. That failure actually cost me the number five spot in the academy, the 'safe-zone' I had designated in my head for making sure I got into the Storm Trooper corps. I seriously doubt that Mir-what's-her-name is going to have the guts to try something herself. I just got to watch out for her minions and build myself back up where appropriate. I've come this far without engaging in petty sabotage, I won't start now.

Whatever, the project is failed, I was free to be as distracted as I want. Sort of. As long as I didn't do anything to look too 'lost in the mists', the Sergeant's wouldn't give me something to do with my time that would involve more PT.

Being in the top five doesn't sound that impactful with thirty students, but being in the top five when the class is only ten students? Now, that's impactful. It meant things. It meant you were a cut above the rest and it looked really, really good to the Corps.

You know, with how large the Corps is, I wonder if the other Academies throughout the Galaxy have lower standards? Does that mean that the standard of the rest of the corps, when I finally get inside the Storm Troopers, will they be significantly laxer than I'm used too?

That's an interesting thought. And a little annoying. I like things to hit a certain standard while I'm working with them. I mean, sure, I'm in the Empire and a lower standard is _technically_ a good thing, but it could get _me_ killed. I don't want to die just because I'm trying to further my education!

…I swear I'll leave at the first major atrocity.

Major. Like shooting civilians for no reason. Minor atrocity, which includes destruction of property and leaving said civilians to pick up the pieces is a minor-you know what, forget it.

I just want to make my friends proud. That's all I want. The Emperor can die in a fire and strung up by a wire, I just want to make my friends proud.

The Blaster Cannon Operation Class came to an end. Points were distributed and Mira jumped from place three to place two and Werner jumped ahead of me to place five and I fell to number six in the class. Not as bad as it could've been, I could've fallen to number seven but she didn't earn enough points to surpass my twenty-point lead.

I watched as everyone filed out of the class. I was the last to leave and we weren't given too much guff now. So long as we weren't doing anything dumb, we were technically on free-time now, seeing as this class was the last of the day.

Mira was talking with Carp, leaning against the wall. I didn't even spare them a glance and as I walked past, Mira started _seething_ internally. Part of it was attraction, sure, hormones did that. But it was mostly her own psychosis. By ignoring her, I'm pressing her berserk button with predictable results. That was all I needed to get the smug satisfaction that she thought I didn't know she existed.

If this is the result I'm getting, I'm more than happy to just keep doing what I'm doing.

I was laughing internally, actually. It was everything I could do to not skip through the hall because I was making someone very, _very_ angry just by _existing_. It's quite the amazing feeling, really.

The other students were going to the lounge to relax. I rarely stuck around or went to the lounge to play games during free time. I needed to meditate too much to keep myself calm and shed the stress that accumulated from each day. To be honest, I was getting really good at letting go of the stress and just existing. The most liberating thing in the world is taking the stress you're under and just throwing it away and enjoying the good feelings that come.

This is starting to get dangerous.

I knelt beside the Swoop bike I was supposed to ride through the course today and noted that one of the decelerator had been frozen in a stripe pattern. Just one of them, and it had been hastily painted over. The paint had frozen in such a way it was easy to break it off just by rubbing it, but the metal was visibly weakened with a white stripe being cast over it.

It wouldn't stop the swoop from braking, but if I tried to drift, it would blow and I'd crash into a wall. Thank the force that I was able to sense it before I started it. That just meant that I needed to inform Sergeant Iper of the sabotage.

…wait, there's nothing around here that would implicate that I did this intentionally, right? I looked around hastily and could not find either the paint or the carbon freeze.

She was standing watch as the others were mounting the bikes. I walked up to her and stood at attention. "Officer Candidate Plite reporting."

"What it is, Cadidate?" Sergeant Iper was a petite, bald woman with a faded scar running over her forehead. No one quite knew what the story behind the scar was, but rumors were that she was a commando in one of the branches of Imperial Military who came in contact with a rebel cell. She was also one of the 'reasonable' sergeants, in that she didn't raise her voice often, but she could freeze a man's heart solid with a glare and break them with well-placed words.

"I'd like to report equipment sabotage on my swoop, Sergeant," I replied briskly. "One of my decelerators was partially frozen with carbonite."

Sergeant got a deep frown. "Show me."

"Yes Sergeant," I nodded, turning on my heels and leading the way to my swoop.

I knelt down by the decelerator and brushed more of the brittle, frozen paint away with my thumb. "They froze it in stripes and painted over it."

"What?" Sergeant Iper asked sharply.

"They froze it in stripes and painted over it, Sergeant," I hastily amended. Always end your sentences with the rank of the person you're speaking too. Even in the Junior Track, I slipped up on that and got PT'd severely for it.

"I see," Sergeant Iper replied as if she hadn't had to correct me at all. "What were they trying to accomplish during this bit of sabotage, Officer Candidate?"

"When I attempted to drift in the course, the carbonite would cause the decelerator to blow would blow and I'd crash into a wall, Sergeant," I replied, brushing off yet more paint.

"Do you know who's is responsible for this, Officer Candidate?" Iper asked.

"Yes, Sergeant," I nodded.

"Do you have _proof_?" Iper almost sounded hopeful.

"No, Sergeant," I replied.

She glared into my eyes. "Very well. Twenty points for spotting this sabotage. An investigation will begin as soon as I file the report. You are excused to your barracks until mess. Dismissed, Candidate."

"Thank you, Sergeant," I said, turning on my heels on walking off. It wasn't too surprising that I was sent to my bunk, I could've done the sabotage myself and she needs to make sure I did no such thing and…I think that might've been plan B, actually.

Twenty Points was more than I could've gotten for completing the course normally and I'm usually pretty good at Swoop Biking so…I think I just got handed a break. That's nice, actually.

Let's make sure there's no paint or carbon stashed with my things, shall I?

"Candidate!" Sergeant Ozap, who was talking with Sergeant Tyla, turned to address me. "Report!"

I stood at attention. "Officer Candidate Plite reporting as ordered, Sergeant."

"Where are you going, Candidate?" He asked.

"I was order to my barracks following attempted sabotage of my swoop, sergeant," I answered. I had nothing to hide.

"Very good. Proceed, Candidate," Sergeant Ozap nodded. He didn't even bat an eye. That's almost admirable.

"Yes, Sergeant," I turned to continue on my way.

I made it to the barracks. Azel and Sulliven's bunks had been empty for weeks since they had been removed. It's only attempted murder if you get caught, right? Right.

First, check under everyone's bed. Mine, Azel, Sulliven, Werner's. Nothing. Crack open my foot locker and…welp. She planned to get me caught as plan be. Sitting right on top of my clothes and toiletries was a can of spray-paint and can of frozen carbonite. This isn't good. I need to get rid of it?

If I recall from the reports I used to file, I have to get rid of these things _within the hour_ before an investigation team shows up. I'm an orphan going against some bureaucrat's daughter. In a sane world, everyone would be able to see that there's no way I could've snuck these twin cans to the Swoop Track and then back to my quarters without anyone noticing.

This is the Empire.

I opened the door to look out the hall, seeing if anyone was coming. There was no one.

Okay. Some breathing room, at least. The most likely location they got the paint was from a supply closet two levels down in the basement. Perhaps the carbonite is there as well. But I can't go there without the cameras seeing me acting suspiciously. The only reason I can even move as freely as I can is because Werner's hack to the security camera in our room was still in place, giving the thing a random assortment of loops to play while we were inside.

Dude had guts, let me tell you. Or just an insatiable appetite for card games.

…but there is one thing I can do. On the floor under my bed is a vent cover. The vent itself dropped thirty feet to the basement. I could drop them down there, but if either can is damaged and its product gets everywhere, _someone_ is going to put two and two together and I'll be thrown out. Even worse if there's someone like a maintenance droid down there right now.

Which would solve my 'I need a motive to hate the Empire' thing rather nicely since I won't be a part of it anymore, but I need to do what I set out to do. I _need_ to get into SCAR. I've already put four years of my life into this, I don't want to back out now.

So, it's risk.

But…there is something I can do to mitigate it.

I can use the force to gently float the cans down there and then open the vent into the storage room. In theory. In practice…I don't know if I can. I've never levitated anything before. I've deliberately shunned that part of the force as too visible for the academy. But I'm alone, and that camera's been hacked.

But I have to try.

I grabbed both cans and locked the footlocker back up. I could still fit under my bed, but only barely. On my stomach, I crawled forward to the vent at the end and was thankfully able to lift the cover off. Thanking those before me who had things to hide, I gently placed it on its side.

Now for the hard part.

Close my eyes. Let go of the urgency. Of the fear. That's the first thing to do. Then to feel the cans, their contents pressurized and ready to explode. Then, let the force flow through me. At least I think this is how you do it.

Neither can moved.

Come on.

Please.

I've put four years of my life into this place. I don't want to leave.

No, no. Let go of that dread. Don't fall to the dark side, even though the dark-side would fix this problem _guaranteed_. Because it's quicker. And I need quick right now. Like…right now. Letting myself fall just a bit to ensure I get what I want.

It's just a bit.

I just need to move these cans.

I just need to not get caught with suspicious materials.

I just want to complete this mad quest I set out to do.

Come on…

My breathing was becoming heavy, which hurt in the confines I was in, as my chest tried to push me up against the underside of the bed.

The path to the dark side leads to madness. I don't want to lose my mind just to move a pair of cans. But I don't want to lose four years of work just because I _can't_ move a pair of cans.

What could it hurt? Just never do it again after this.

It can hurt everything because if I use the dark-side to move cans, I'll end up, maybe not tomorrow, not a week from now, but I could end up being fine using the force to choke someone to death. That was a _fantasy_ of mine before I died. A sick, dark fantasy that I thought about but never thought I could act out.

But I don't want that.

Would the cans even burst from a thirty-foot fall? Yeah. They totally would. These aren't made of durasteel, they're made of a cheap aluminum knock-off that would not only break, but make a lot of noise once they hit the vent cover below. There's someone down there.

Take a breath.

I need to let go.

Of this Academy.

Of the time, I spent here.

I don't want too. I've learned so much. I've _become_ someone. Not a hapless writer trying to make his way by writing stories that may, or may not be of some quality. I'm a candidate to be an officer in the Imperial Military. I'm going to join the Rebellion and bring the war to the Emperor's doorstep.

I'm sixteen years old. My name is Jethro Plite. And…I don't want to fall to the Darkside for this.

I need to let go.

The Empire is…transitory, anyway. It's only a step forward the final goal. A goal which…is honestly in doubt, given that it would make Pyrus and Parter disappointed. Or at least thoroughly furious, combined with confusion at my actions.

Does that mean I…need to leave? Those who fail the Academy just go back to being civilians. I'm too far in. I need to stay. I need to fulfill my mission. I got to be the best soldier the Empire and Rebellion have ever seen.

I just need to move these kriffing cans.

Please let me move these cans.

Just let the Force flow through me.

They're coming.

I've been single-mindedly focused on this one task for so long. I almost don't know what I'd do if I failed. And I'd fail because of this one schutta who's mad because I refused to give her any attention. She tried to kill me and _I'm_ the one who has to scramble to cover things up because she has political connections and I don't. It's so _unfair_. My life's work down the drain because of this!

…I think I've got my reason to hate the Empire. I imagine this will be one of many.

So, do I let them catch me and throw me out of the Academy? If I do that, where would I go? Tattooine? Find Obi-wan? Yeah, no. That's an entire planet. Even if I start on Mos Eisley, I seriously doubt I'll ever actually be able to find Obi-wan if he doesn't want to be found. Even worse with Dagobah, since there's no actual civilization I could start with. The only way Luke found Yoda in the first place is the Force giving him a nudge in the right direction.

FOCUS!

Just let go.

Let…the force…flow through me.

Just let it do its thing.

I grabbed both cans and positioned them above the vent. With the Force in me, my eyes closed, I dropped them. I could feel them going. But they were going relatively slowly. Just keep the focus. Don't interrupt the Force while it's trying to help me. Just…let it do its thing.

They clanked to the bottom and…maybe I can open the grate at the bottom? It's on a hinge, it's just locked shut by a lever-lock. It's just a small thing. Just push. I can do that. Just let the force do it and…the grate opened, and the cans fell to the floor. To any maintenance personnel or droids, the cans would've just fallen to the floor.

I hope.

I quickly replaced the vent cover and climbed out from under my bed.

With that, I re-made my bed, seeing as my shuffling's under it had messed up the sheets. I laid down on top of the bed and grabbed a datapad and flipped to the section talking about swoop maintenance.

Without warning, the door opened. I stood up as Sergeant Iper and several of the Ensigns on retainer entered. I stood at attention. "Sergeant Iper."

"Officer Candidate," She nodded. "Restate the events of what happened at Swoop practice."

"During my routine inspection of my swoop bike, I saw a paint smudge on the right decelerator," I explained. "I knelt down, brushed some frozen paint aside and discovered that my decelerator had been sabotaged. I immediately went to you, Sergeant, and I was ordered to my barracks. That's my report, Sergeant."

"Do you have anything else to report?" Iper asked with a frown.

"No, Sergeant," I answered.

The Ensign's were looking through everything. I mean, everything. My stuff. Werner's stuff, Azel and Sulliven's Empty bed and trunks. They searched it all. They were thorough. I imagine that Werner was a possible suspect.

"Who do you suspect of this act of sabotage?" Iper asked.

"Mira Targe, and her subordinate Carp Bastiell, Sergeant." I replied with a nod.

"Why do you suspect them?" Iper asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I have heard that Mira despises me because I do not give her attention," I continued. "And Carp is simply chasing Mira's skirt, Sergeant."

"Where did you hear this?" Iper continued her interrogation.

"Werner has warned me about it in recurring discussions, Sergeant."

"When was the first?"

"Nearly eight months ago, Sergeant."

"And the most recent?"

"Yesterday, Sergeant," I replied with a nod.

"Ensign Manag," Iper turned to face the Ensign standing at attention at the end of Azel's old bed. "Have we found anything?"

"No, Sergeant," Ensign Manag replied.

"Alright. Officer Candidate, I believe your story checks out," Iper nodded. "Attend mess when it's time and you will report to Destroyer Class Operations this afternoon."

"Yes Sergeant."

With that, they left and I heaved a great sigh of relief.

I'm seriously doubting whether I actually have it in me to go through this plan.

* * *

Final exam. Well, my final exam. Destroyer Class Operations. We were split up into two teams in one of the Academy's many hangars for capture the flag. We were given blasters capable of stunning targets and placed at opposite ends of a maze which had been erected.

The guy who actually captures the flag and plants it at our base gets 100 points. Given that I had fallen to seventh place, I need that thing badly. Everyone else gets twenty points. And I noticed that, once again, getting 'killed' didn't mean you didn't get points. You only lost points if your team didn't capture the flag. You also only got one life.

Making this more difficult was that this exam was merged with two other classes as their numbers had shrunk like ours had, so I didn't know how trustworthy they were.

I think, if I ever- _once I defect_ , I'm going to do so by faking my death and donning a helmet, going around like the rebellions version of Boba Fett with an assumed name until the Empire's been toppled. There is no question of me defecting. None at all. Zero.

…I'm starting to think I need to get out of this whole deal. But I need to persist.

The maze was in front of us, assembled from what looked to be pre-fabricated pieces that reminded me of Tetris. The entrance was lit, showing a t-intersection going left and right. Our flag was outside, in the center of a metal ring which was connected to the maze in front of us by ways of a two-step staircase.

"Begin!" Sergeant Iper's starter blaster sounded and each of us, wearing the black uniform of the academy, ran up to the entrance.

Werner was on my team and someone named David, from one of the other classes was put in command. "Alright. Holly, Brunson and I will stay behind and defend the flag. Werner, Jet, you both take the left passage. Typer, Gyax, Cadre, Ryloss and Quip, you take the right passage."

We're the distraction and David's hoping to pick off the survivors with the flag so he can place it himself. Since it's technically not sabotage if the enemy is all dead, it's a decent plan, at the very least.

"Roger," I nodded.

"Got it," Werner nodded.

Down the left passage we went. Both of us pressed out backs against the wall and sidled to the side. The passage had led to a living room, with plants decorating the corners. Three couches sitting on a rug around a glass caff table in a U pattern, the underside of the pattern facing toward the far entrance. In the far corner was another passage going straight ahead.

"I'll take a position behind the couch," I whispered to Werner. "I'll shoot anyone that comes through here. You got my back?"

"Yeah," Werner nodded. "I'm not throwing myself at the enemy team with just the two of us."

I quickly ran over to the couch on the side of the room opposite us and took cover behind it's arm. From my vantage point, I saw another passage, this one running parallel to the tunnel Werner and I came down, but on the north side instead of the south. Mira's on the other team and I _really_ want to shoot her. She hasn't tried anything since the sabotage stunt. I think she lost her nerve, but you know.

My _ears_ twitched as I heard footsteps coming down the hall. Then whispers. From what I could sense, there were four of them. _Four_. Signaled to Werner the number and the grip on his weapon tightened.

"On three," I mouthed to him and begun counting on my finger. One, two, three.

I peeked out of cover and saw them. Two were in the process of moving from one of the corridors to the other. Another hiding behind the couch on that side of the room. The last was standing at the corridor.

Barely even taking the time to aim, I raised my rifle and fired. Nailed the two moving from cover on the chest and shoulder, specifically, then hit the one standing in the corridor in the head before ducking behind a trio of stun bolts.

I was heaving, adrenaline was pumping through my head, I could feel it in my temples. Wait, is he trying to get me by moving around the couch? I think he's trying to get me by moving around the couch. I put my rifle around the corner and squeezed the trigger, and was rewarded with the sound of the stunner hitting a target, then the sound of someone falling to the floor.

Making sure there wasn't any more following them by peeking over the couch, and then standing up to see that I had, indeed, caught the last one behind the second couch. "I got them."

"That…was amazing," Werner said, gawking at the unconscious bodies I had been responsible for. "You're a krayt, Plite."

"Thank you," I nodded. "Four down, six to go. I think we should keep our position in this room and watch for any of the enemy to come from that side."

"Right, I agree," Werner nodded. "…maybe we should wait if anyone comes down from there in case they can take out some of the guards?"

"Scared they're going to shoot us if we show up with the flag, huh?" I asked with a smirk.

"I prefer to think of it as preparing for the inevitable," Werner shrugged. "You want to move to the other couch?"

"I really like my spot here," I answered with a sarcastic grin. "You can take that position and I can watch our backs."

Werner gave me an... interesting look. "Alright."

He's thinking about shooting me if he can. That…is honestly depressing. I was almost hoping for another friend, like Parter was. But then, if the Empire's going to incentivize backstabbing, backstabbing will happen.

Speaking of Parter, I wonder how he's doing? I haven't even seen him running around at all. Is he still in the Academy? I hope so.

The sounds of blaster fire echoed from the other entrances into the room. It kept going, and going for several minutes.

"So, you think they kept everyone else back at the flag?" Werner asked with a frown. "We-you just took out four of them."

"I don't know," I said, the blaster fire _still_ going on. "But I'm just hoping Mira survives long enough for me to put a stunner in her obnoxious face."

"If I see her, I'll let you know," Werner nodded.

The blaster-fire finally went down. Werner shifted his position behind his couch to looking down the hall we came from and wouldn't you know it, two of the other team came down the hall and the two of us _quickly_ hid behind our individual couches.

One of them did a combat roll from one side of the exit to the other and it _actually saved his life_ as the blaster bolts soared over him. I never thought I'd see a combat roll that actually worked in my life, but I have now seen it. He probably could've achieved the same result if he had bent over and run, but that is not the point. The point is that the unnecessary combat roll did something.

And it was getting very difficult suppressing my surprised laughter.

One of them went down, a stunner hitting him in the face. The other kept shooting one round, two rounds…and then went forward.

"No, no, no!" I whispered, getting up and sprinting to the exit.

I came to where our flag was being held and right as he was about to pull it out, I put a stunner in his back, and he fell over. The flag pole, which had a blue Imperial Flag hanging from it, actually held his weight as he slid down the pole.

"Alright, you want to stay behind and guard the flag?" I asked him, coming back around the corner and I suddenly leaned back to dodge the stunner aimed at my stomach. My own stunner hit Werner in the arm, causing him to drop the rifle and fall on the couch. "I'll take that as a no."

If my guess is correct, I'm the only one on my team and there's two on their team – one, now that I heard a blaster go off. Alright then. Sergeant Iper is watching from her perch above the maze, taking notes on her datapad.

Alright, let's go find the last person. It's probably Mira, she's the type to shoot people in the back. What a schutta. But alas. So I went back through the way I came and went around to hall going north. If my guess is correct, Mira's the type to wait for trouble to engage her on her terms, since she'd prefer to send others out into danger for her. Can you imagine if there was actually enough evidence to convict someone? It'd be Carp because he did it first and she can disavow any knowledge of the event.

I came to what looked like an armory area, will all of the 'weapons' locked behind metal cage bars and in crates. Multiple walls of crates that could be used to stand on for cover from either this entrance or the other one. I could sense Mira by the flag and it was her.

Like I expected. As I left the armory, I walked forward with my back placed against the wall. I peeked around the wall and went back to cover as a stunner, aimed right for my face, hit the wall behind where I was.

"Of course, it had to be you," Her voice didn't sound bad, either. "Of all the nerf herders in my class, the one thing standing between me and victory is-"

She didn't finish. My stunner hit her in the chest. She fell to the ground and I walked forward, plucking the flag from its stand. Then I walked back, going the other way back. I found Carp unconscious in a barracks area, draped over a bunk. Five on my team were on the other side, and I see what happened. The four on their team got lucky against our five and two got through. Then those two ended up moving forward, taking out the guards with one casualty and I took out the remainder.

I placed the red-teams flag alongside our blue one, and ended the game.

"Officer Candidate Plite," Sergeant Iper stood, hands folded behind her back. "100 points. Congratulations. You have secured the third-rank spot in your class and are guaranteed to make it into the Storm Trooper corps as an officer."

"Thank you, Sergeant," I called up to her.

"Do not thank me," Sergeant Iper replied. "This was well earned. Dismissed."

* * *

 _Author's Note: This chapter was very hard to write. I was trying to figure out how to justify Jet's decision to stay in the Empire once someone tried to kill him and I_ think _that I managed to succeed. Let me know what you think._

 _I actually finished this chapter on Saturday, but FFnet was being difficult and I couldn't upload it. Sad day._

 _I will note that a game of capture the flag wasn't the best choice for a final exam as explained by several other readers on the forums. It was_ meant _to act as a simulation and everyone in the place treated it as such, but I could've gone much farther than I did. So there is that.  
_

 _Shout out too_ Michael White _, the newest member of our circle of patrons. Welcome, buddy. Your presence is much appreciated. Thank you for your contribution, you are amazing._

 _Shout out also goes out too_ Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, Jeff Potato, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, LushWF, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba _and_ Valphrim _. You guys are also amazing and have continued to be amazing. Thank you all for being awesome._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _For those of you whom are reading this on FFnet, the link is www dot pa tre on dot com slash fulcon. I am sorry it's not in a better form, FF despises my links and I can't get them to work. Thank you for your interest and I'm sorry for the inconvenience._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	12. Intern

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

"So, here it is, I got my assignment," I said, waving the envelope in the air. I was only at the Orphanage for another week before I shipped out for my internship and was given a place to lay my head.

"Oh, good," Mom said, sitting down in the kitchen chair and folding her robot arms on her lap. "Open it, let's see."

See, the thing I hadn't quite anticipated was that the Corps didn't take anyone under the age of Nineteen. But having completed both academies sequentially, I had some time to kill, hence being given an internship with a Storm Trooper Legion. I didn't know that most people actually _took_ the option to enter the senior track at 16, I didn't even consider it. Not sure which Legion or which Star Destroyer I'd be stationed on, but the important thing is that I'd be away from the Academy and most importantly away from the Inquisitors they have stationed here at the Academy.

I've never seen or sensed them, but I _knew_ they were there. By being gone from them, I can finally start being a skill-thief full time as opposed to only part of the time and only with a select number of people.

Wait, is this assignment actually _paper_? That's honestly a little bizarre. I tore open the envelope and reached inside, finding a small holoprojector that was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.

Of course, it's not paper. I was actually excited for a second there.

Then the projector turned on and it was just a message that could've easily just been printed on paper and sent to me for the exact same price as this package.

 _Officer Candidate Jethro Plite,_ the letter began. I read it aloud for M7's benefit. _It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected for an Internship with the 357_ _th_ _Legion of Stormtroopers, currently assigned to the Star Destroyer_ Highlander _. Your accomplishments are worthy and your Empire is proud of your service._

 _You'll be serving underneath High Colonel Zipir, a distinguished member of the corps who had brought glory to the Empire for fourteen years._ It read, then it gave me the date to report for transport two weeks from now. _Signed, Commandant Deenlark._

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mom said, raising her arms in a celebratory fashion since she couldn't really do facial expressions. "I'll make some cake to celebrate. This is a great cause for celebration! I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Mo-M7," I said, putting the projector back into the envelope and playing it on the table. I had called the droid Mom before. She had gently chided me that she was a droid and thus unable to actually be a mom. I decided to respect her wishes regarding the matter. My old Mom hated arguing, so I wanted to treat this one with the same kind of deference.

Thank the Force it wasn't the 501st. I was actually a little scared that I'd end up face to face with Darth Vader before I was ready. That is to say, I was a little scared that I'd end up facing Darth Vader. Doubt I'll ever be ready to face the Star Wars representation of the anti-Christ…ever.

Though he did destroy the Sith, eventually. It just took a while and his only son almost being tortured to death in front of him. That's…pretty extreme.

Anyway. Time to stop thinking about that because this is a happy occasion. Mom's happy, so I'm happy. Simple.

It wasn't exactly rare for kids to attach themselves to one of the nanny droids in particular. To that particular kid, that droid was mom. Or in one case, dad. The droids tried to discourage it, of course, because of the memory wipes that come every decade or so. I know it hurts the kids when they grow up and their surrogate parent no longer recognizes them. I've heard some stories passed around, but nothing really concrete in the way of names and dates.

To my surprise, chocolate was a thing in Star Wars and that actually made me quite happy. A little taste of home, you know. How exactly chocolate can exist and grow, natively, on several different plants is a complete mystery to me _and_ the Imperial Scientific community but, you know. There's dozens of papers about the evolution of species of plants and it's utterly fascinating.

Not a lot of discussion about the Force, oddly enough. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with that, though I've got a bit of a dilemma. If I wanted to be the analogue of a creationist, do I thank The _Force_ for Chocolate, or George Lucas? It's a weird philosophical question to be pondering over chocolate cake.

"Now what are you thinking about, Jet?" Mom asked.

"Philosophy," I replied.

"I see," Mom nodded, putting the various ingredients she used back in their places now that she was done. "Are you excited to be serving on a Star Destroyer?"

"I am, actually," To a point. I was honestly curious as to how _human_ those serving in the Empire actually were. Were there some reasonable, fair people I could find or was it entirely 'Palpatine, Kriff Yeah!' all the time? I'm desperately hoping for the former, otherwise I was _not_ going to stick around for SCAR training.

"That's good," Mom replied. "It's what you've wanted since you were little. I'm glad all that dreadful academy work is paying off."

"You and me both," To be honest, the main reason I'm sticking with the Empire for now is because it's a relatively risk-free, and I do mean relatively, way of getting the military training that I need. Not just that, but there's also the inside information I'd have and _that_ would be extremely helpful. I'm not crazy enough to try to stay in as a mole for the rebellion, Vader would sniff that out almost immediately. I know for a fact that a Moff tried to do that and Vader murdered him in…I don't know how fast it was. Within the year's too broad a timeframe. I almost want to say within a month, but that feels too fast. "I hope it keeps paying off, to be honest."

Technically, if I used my skill-thief ability more liberally as I murder for the Rebellion, I'd get really good, really, really quick. The trick is to last until I know there's a Rebellion to go too. Because let's be honest, the Empire's going to see my moral code, such as it is, and try to squash it with a durasteel boot. Because that's what it does.

And trying to rebel without a cadre of like-minded individuals is suicide.

* * *

Early in the morning, the Coruscant sun had barely begun to poke over the skyline. Sitting on a bench in the spaceport, having bid Mom farewell back at the Orphanage. She seemed sad, actually. Given that it would be the last time that I'd see her and have her recognize me, I can say the feeling was mutual.

She didn't expect the hug I gave her, though. Anyway.

Clad in my intern's uniform of black with a blank square on my chest where my officer bars would be. I also had a hat, but that was folded in my pocket.

There were a _lot_ of students who made it through. Almost a thousand at my pure guesstimation.

Officers stepped out of the shuttles and started boarding us. They had to shout to get over the din of the crowd. Most of the people here were heading to specialized academies, like Skystrike or the Academy on Carida, which is where I'll be going once my internship is over unless something happens to either get me thrown out (read: executed) or I jump ship.

"Interns to the Highlander!" A guy, his uniform and bars telling me he was a Sublieutenant, called out. I stood up and put on my hat. Walking over to him, I noted that there were five others that stood alongside me. "Board the shuttle, we will take off momentarily."

We did precisely that, putting our suitcases underneath our chairs and sitting down in a row on the right side of the shuttle. I didn't recognize any of the others here on the shuttle. I was sitting second from the end closest to the entrance. To my immediate left was a girl, black hair, tied in a bun. She was wearing the same uniform I was. On the right, was another girl, this one with brown hair, hair tied in a ponytail. Past them were two guys, both with short black hair. Not siblings this time, they looked completely different.

Speaking of siblings, I wonder if Azel and Sulliven started speaking again since they dropped out? Part of me honestly doubts it, but I hope so. You know, I heard that Werner got pulled off of his track to the Imperial Army to work in Intelligence? Considering the Academy didn't find his bug on the camera's until _after_ we graduated, he's clearly got talent.

Given his less than stellar scores in Destroyer-class Operations, I think it's a good thing. Don't want him shooting someone in the back for a promotion _outside_ of Imperial Intelligence. Best put him in a place where he could deal some actual damage.

Snide joking aside, I wish him well and hope that he doesn't get that treatment in turn.

The sound of the shuttle's engines starting was enough to get me to sit on edge with anticipation and a little bit of nervousness. I'd flown simulations before, did well enough that I could, conceivably get into the Navy as a Tie Fighter pilot, but this would be my first time actually going to space.

Oh, I'm sitting on the edge of my seat. Criminally, there were no windows, except for the cockpit. Given that you literally got everything you needed to know about the happenings of the ship from the computers and screens, the cockpit was entirely aesthetic. Given that it let the Millennium Falcon have its iconic design, I'm not going to fault the design choice even though it's technically a weak-point of the ship.

I want a window, darn it.

"Starting the jump to lightspeed," The Pilot said over the intercom.

Seriously, can I get some windows?

The massive _thump_ as the shuttle went to lightspeed brought a giant grin to my face that quickly became dampened by the complete inability to see anything.

"We will arrive at the Highlander in half a standard hour," The Pilot continued.

 _There is no earthly way of knowing which way we are going_ , I sarcastically recounted in my head…you know, I've never actually heard that whole thing. I wish I looked it up before I died, I don't even know where it's from.

The hum of the hyperdrive was the only sound. None of the other Interns were talking, but they were shifting around nervously, trying to get comfortable. The Sublieutenant at the door was a statue the way he watched us without moving. Oh, no, no. Wait. Not quite a statue, he had to scratch his nose.

…so bored.

Eventually, I really couldn't take it anymore. "Sublieutenant, sir? I don't think I caught your name."

"Sublieutenant Peters," He replied, looking at me. "And you?"

"Officer Candidate Jethro Plite, sir," I answered. "Have you served on the Highlander long, sir?"

"I've been on the Ship for six years," He replied. Wow, he looked good for serving for so long, actually. "We're taking each of you on maneuvers so you don't need to worry about coming on an actual military tour."

"Thank you, sir," I nodded. "This wouldn't be the first time you've taken interns on war games, is it, sir?"

"Is this an interrogation, Officer Candidate?" Peters' eyes narrowed at me.

"No sir," I quickly replied.

"Then what is it?"

"It's an attempt to break the ice and get my fellow interns talking, sir," I replied, gesturing on either side of me.

He resisted the urge to smile. "I see. Let me offer you some advice, candidate. Sometimes it's good to break the ice. Such as when you're off duty. You're not off duty, so now is not the time to be breaking the ice. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Darn it. I'm going to be bored again. I'm not supposed to be bored, I'm in _space_. "Thank you, sir."

"Good man," Peters nodded. "Now, to be clear, none of you have any reason to be nervous. You're not going into an actual area of conflict and each Commanding Officer have broken in interns before. You'll be in good hands."

I fell quiet and that was the end of that. I closed my eyes and mentally sighed.

"Coming out of hyperspace," The Pilot, currently luckiest person in the shuttle said over the com. He actually got to _see_ space. Honestly, I should've been in the Navy. I had the Fighter Scores for it but _no_. I had to want to be ground personnel so freaking badly. Maybe I'll get one of those 'space-walk patrols' I heard were a thing and then it'll all be worth it.

There's not actually a Space Trooper, either! I looked all over the Holonet for any signs of such a thing, but there wasn't anything at all. I could've _sworn_ there was, like some kind of trooper specialized for boarding actions, but I couldn't find anything. It's a real shame, but I think I'll request for 'Jet Trooper' training instead. Pretty sure those jetpacks work in both space and atmosphere, I mean, we've got the technology for it.

"We're docking with the Highlander now," The Pilot said.

"Everyone stand and prepare to disembark," Peters ordered and we did, grabbing our suitcases out from under our chairs.

The loading ramp descended and Peters took the lead and we went single file behind him. We walked down and found three officers waiting for us.

"Second Lieutenants. Ensign," Peters said as the three saluted him. "Here with the Officer Candidates straight from Royal Academy. Make sure they get to where they need to go."

"Yes sir," The Ensign replied and Peters walked off. He turned to us. "Attention!"

We snapped like clockwork to a salute and the Ensign leafed through a datapad that he had brought. "Alright. Officer Candidate Victor Niles, you'll be going with Second Lt. Princeton. Candidates Plite and Orton, you'll be going with Second Lt. Tyver and Midshipman Lotto and Midshipman Zilean are with me, Ensign Gaggle. Understood?"

"Yes sir," We all replied at once.

"Good. Lotto, Zilean? Follow me," Gaggle, whose name would've made me laugh in any other context, lead off the Navy Cadets, both of them walking smartly after him.

Lt. Tyver was an average man of the corps., a large man with a closely shaven head and severe eyes. He wore a black uniform with two squares, red and blue with black squares on either side identifying his rank as a second lieutenant. Once I get through basic, I'll be wearing a uniform just like his. "Follow me, candidates and step quickly."

* * *

Sergeant Major Brigand, the millionth Sergeant that I've encountered on my way to the corps, was the man in charge of his Platoon's armor. After I had been shown to my quarters, I got introduced to this man with a cybernetic leg and arm that was short, stocky and brimming with enough cantankerous attitude simmering beneath the surface that I'm shocked it hasn't spilled out and slapped a CO across the face for being so rude as to order his ornery self around.

"This, Candidates, is your standard Storm Trooper armor," Brigand said, gesturing to the suit that had been laid out on a table like it was getting ready for an autopsy. "These helmets have the worst peripheral vision that I've ever seen, an integrated communications system that records everything you say and a somewhat irritating flare on the lenses when you fire a blaster."

…I like this man. It's that kind of brutal honesty I can get behind.

"But it will also keep you alive in inhospitable environments with its internal temperature regulator, will also keep you alive in the cold, unforgiving void of space for a brief time and make sure you can find the enemy with its motion trackers," Brigand continued with a sigh. "You'll never be allowed to use the air-conditioning unless you're on a world like Tatooine with its duo suns and even then, its unlikely. The body-glove tends to ride in all the wrong places which you'll hate a lot more than it being the reason you can survive in the cold, unforgiving void of space. Finally, the armor won't protect you from a full-on blast from a blaster so it's more like a scary costume made of tissue paper."

Given the mechanical limbs he has, I'd say he has some actual experience with this sort of thing.

"Sir?" Orton, the other intern looked somewhat disturbed look on her face.

"Hold your questions till after I'm done," Sergeant Major Brigand ordered with an impassive face, grabbing an E-11 blaster from the rack. "This, as you are both aware, is the E-11 Blaster Rifle. It is a pile of bantha piss that can't hit anything unless you're at a closer than optimal range or you're lucky. As a trooper, this is your best friend and this relationship is toxic in the same way that Ryloth's surface will kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," We both answered.

"Now you can ask questions," Brigand said.

"If our equipment is so terrible, why are we being assigned it?" Ortan asked with a frown. "Sir."

"Because it's cheap and looks impressive," Brigand nodded.

"But-"

"Does the High Colonel know you're being this honest?" I asked desperately trying to suppress the grin that was growing on my face. "Sir."

"No. But I figured that maybe saving a few cadets lives might be worth the risk," Brigand replied with a sigh. "Since none of the other Candidates complained to the CO yet, I think they agree."

See, _that_ makes sense. I also think that Brigand's got to be more careful about ticking off his charges than first impressions have given me.

"What are the regulations for modifying our equipment, sir?" I asked.

"We'll go over all the finer details of the regulations at a later date, but all the regulations can be summed up as follows," Brigand cleared his throat, folding his arms behind his back and looking as if he were going to give a long winded, well repeated and rehearsed speech. "No."

Well, it's only illegal if you get caught, right?

"Any other questions, Candidates?" Brigand asked with a raised eyebrow. I get the feeling the only reason this guy doesn't have the most righteous of beards is because of Imperial Regulation.

"Yes, uh…why is the Empire giving it's best and brightest troopers terrible equipment?" Orton, I need to learn her first name, asked, still looking phenomenally concerned about what she's gotten herself into. "I don't understand, Sir."

"Because there's only so much quality it can spread around to all of the branches of the military," Brigand answered with a downright _tired_ expression on his face. "That would take the form of credits, Candidate. Lots and lots of credits. And most them have gone to some top-secret project of the Emperor's."

Oh. Work on the Death Star has indeed already begun. Alrighty then. Timetable for defection is my 24th birthday at the absolute earliest. If I get as good as I'm hoping too, I do _not_ want to be stuck on Luke Skywalker's favorite ball of fireworks.

"What kind of project?" Orton looked completely flustered. "Sir."

"A top-secret one," Brigand replied with a raised eyebrow. "I'm a Sergeant Major, not the chief of Imperial Intelligence. Anything else? You need to get started on the projects I have lined up for you per High Colonel's orders."

"Just one honest question sir," I began. "Is it actually feasible to refuse promotion, sir?"

His mouth quirked in irritation. "Yes, but that is an excellent way to make sure you never get selected for promotion ever again."

"Thank you, sir," I nodded in appreciation.

"Good. Now, Plite. This E-11 I'm holding is malfunctioning. If the trigger is pulled, it will explode," Brigand explained, holding the bomb out for me to take. "Your job is to find out what's wrong with it and fix it. You can use every tool in the armory. Do you understand your task?"

"Yes sir," I nodded, taking it gingerly with my fingers as far away from the trigger as I could reasonably do. "I'll get started right away."

The armory was rather cramped, actually. Behind the counter with a durasteel, chain-link barrier strung up over it, there were lots and lots of E-11's and sets of armor but not a lot of free counterspace. So, I placed the blaster pistol.

"Good man," Brigand said behind me. "Orton, this armor needs adjustment, the plates keep locking together at odd angles, particularly in the legs and arms. You are to find where the armor has warped and set it straight. Do you understand your task?"

"Yes sir," Orton replied stiffly.

"Good. I'll check up on you both shortly," The metal clanking signaled that he was leaving the armory.

Well. First thing is first, remove the power-cell, then the blaster gas. After that, remove the barrel and unscrew the casing and look at the firing mechanism. Nothing there. And…ah. Here we are. A pair of crossed wires where they shouldn't be crossed.

That's kind of funny, actually. If you pulled the trigger, it would 'explode' alright, but all it'll do is fry the circuits and cause the gas release to seal itself shut as a mechanical safety mechanism. Someone in the Empire has sense? Though I wonder why the High Colonel would even tell him to do such a simple test.

"How…uh…" Orton started. "How's the blaster rifle coming?"

"I found the problem," I told her, grabbing a pair of wire cutters and a spot-welder. "Won't take me long to fix. No explosions."

"Good," Orton replied taking a breath of relief. "Good work."

"Thanks," I replied softly. Then louder. "How's the armor?"

"I haven't found the parts causing it to lock up yet," Orton answered. "Oh, never-mind. Here's one."

I hadn't heard of any regulations about unnecessary chatter, but perhaps that'll be something I'll find out during my internship. But until then, the Sublieutenant's words in my head, I didn't try to strike up a conversation with the admittedly attractive candidate also in the Armory.

Cut the wires, good. Now hold them in place to solder and…carefully fuse the first. Then the second. Okay. Now, are there any other problems I need to correct before I close this thing shut? Let's see. No? Nothing else. The blaster-gas receptacle works fine, the wires are all correct and…anything else? Anything in the barrel? No. Power-cell? Looks fine. Blaster gas magazine?

It's been deliberately locked shut. Well, let's fix it, shall we?

With that, I reassembled the E-11 and placed it on the counter with a breath. "You almost done?"

"I found one problem in each limb," Orton was crouched down by the right arm, fiddling with the elbow plate. "I think this is the last one."

"Good job," I told her.

"Thank you," She replied, standing up. "And done. The elbow plate was fastened improperly."

The sound of Brigand's footsteps heralded his return and the door slid open. "Alright, you both finished already?"

"Yes, sir," We both replied.

"Alright, let's take a look, shall we?" Brigand extended his mechanical hand and picked up the blaster, aiming it at the target painted on the durasteel wall. To his actual surprise, from what I could feel, it fired, the crimson bold striking the wall just outside the target. "It fires. Good job, Candidate."

"Thank you, sir," I nodded.

"Now, Orton. You fixed all the problems with the armor?" Brigand asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes sir," She nodded. "The right kneecap and elbow were fastened improperly and the opposite were dinged in odd places, causing the joints to not extend properly during some situations, Sir."

"How many problems did you find?" Brigand asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Four in total," Orton replied. "One for each limb, Sir."

"Alright," Brigand was nodding in satisfaction. "Now, what did all of these errors have in common?"

The two of us looked at each other.

"They were all very minute problems," Orton answered like she was hazarding a guess. "Sir."

"With very simple fixes, Sir," I added my two cents.

"That's correct," Brigand nodded. "Most problems in the corps are caused because someone forgot to lock up the speeder, or because they didn't clean their armor properly or because they only partially inspected a blaster. These small, minute problems are all that stands between a happy, successful platoon and a terrorist killing them all and getting away on their speeder bikes. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," We both nodded.

"And if by some miracle you survive to report your failure, because of this failure being because of such a simple, easily avoided mishap, you could get charged with incompetence," Brigand narrowed his eyes at both of us. "Or treason, if it's egregious enough. Now, since both of you expanded the extra elbow grease needed to fix _all_ of the problems, not just the obvious ones, I don't need to reprimand you for leaving the dings unfixed or the blaster gas locked shut. Your real duties start now. If you'll follow me."

I did not expect to pass a secret test so soon. Or so effortlessly. This might be easier than I thought…

* * *

 _Author's Notes: Straight-up military is a very new territory for me. I think I've made it through her without anything disgustingly wrong, but then…I could be disgustingly wrong. You know you can be tried for as simple a thing as rolling your eyes at your CO? That's, like…wow. To me._

 _Special thanks to Super Patrons_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Nepene, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba _and_ Valphrim. _You guys are the best._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	13. The Highlander

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

Welp, I found the windows. The starry expanse of the galaxy far, far away stretched out before me. The sheer elegance of the canvas glittering star dust was almost enough to take my breath away. Gone was the light pollution of Coruscant that stopped me from even seeing a single star, gone was the irritating day and night cycle which stopped me from even getting a good view. Now, here? Was glittering perfection.

First day of duty on the Highlander and I think there's a possibility I might actually like it here. Brigand's a far cry from the guy I was expecting to get, a realist of the highest order. I honestly doubt the armor is as _bad_ as he claims it is, but I'm going to try to fight safely just in case there's a couple faulty shipments running around.

Because, you know, hyperbole. It exists.

Something I am going to try to find out, however, is why so many storm troopers fight without the stock extended. That's what I remember from the movies, at any rate. Given that the E-11's main problem is the kick, which _will_ get you killed in the same way Ryloth's (which I'm happy to report is how I remember it: duo-biosphere fire and ice planet) surface will murder you, the stock is super important.

I had finished my duties for the day, so I got to hang around one of the various lounges available here on the Highlander. So, glass of water in my hand, I stared out to the starry expanse, lost in my thoughts.

You know, I wonder what it would take to make a ship like something out of one of the other series of science fictions that I was aware of. Like, say, the USS Enterprise. Sure, I've got no idea where to start making 'phasers' beyond 'it's a variant of a laser', but highly advanced targeting computers and missiles that would make targeting the Death Star's weak point trivial at worst, scanning equipment that would make any analyst weep with joy? I could see that being developed.

So, I know it's part of the charm of Star Wars that it's WW2 in space, but it feels odd that a Galaxy this massive is so...anachronistic. Don't get me wrong, I love it the way it is, but…I don't know. Part of me wonders how many innovations were lost because it stepped on a corporation's toes or jeopardized a politician's agenda? How much of that is because the Force is keeping things static?

Because I've always had the believe that the Force is just a tool and that the Jedi and Sith were simple schools of thought on how it should be used. Since the Force affects the mind and is a tool, it'll help you change and become a different person. You want to become an impartial but compassionate person? It'll help you do that. You want to become someone who's not afraid to take what they want and beat the consequences? It'll help you do that too. You want to become so thoroughly entrenched on reaching a goal that nothing will stop you from reaching it? It'll help you do that with a smile on its face.

But the Force binds everything and as a result, I think it serves the entire galaxy to some degree. What do people fear the most? Change. Sometimes this fear is justified, in the case of the Emperor enslaving dozens of alien species, sometimes it's not, such as in the case of the Empire removing much of the gridlock of the senate. Therefore, how incentivized is the Force to keep things somewhat static to serve the galaxy's fear of change as a whole?

It's kind of scary to think about.

"Hey," I looked up and there was Orton. We've been here a day and haven't even learned her first name. "Nice to see you now that we're off duty. Jet, right?"

"That's right. Please, sit down." I gestured to the seat across from me. "I confess you've got me at a disadvantage. You are?"

"Tori," She replied, taking my offer and sitting down with a glass of blue milk in her hand. "Tori Orton. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," I nodded with a half-smile. She wasn't bad looking, that was for certain. "So, is the _Highlander_ everything you thought it would be?"

"Not," She paused slightly, looking out the window for a minute before looking back at me. "Not exactly, no. I didn't think someone like SGM Brigand could exist in the corps but here he is. He a crotchety old wart, isn't he?"

"I don't think he's that bad to people who outrank him," I explained, taking a sip of water. I had been so excited to try blue milk when I had the opportunity. Imagine my dismay when I didn't like it and couldn't force myself _to_ like it. "That and he's really good at his job."

"That's true," She nodded. "I just don't understand why he uses so much…exaggeration. The armor isn't paper, if you take a blaster bolt, you'll just be knocked out instead of killed unless you're doing something stupid like standing in front of a cannon."

Or get on the wrong end of a lightsaber. That's a pretty good way to be dead instead of KO'd. "Honestly, he's trying to keep us from doing stupid things. Imagine, for instance, if some private got in their heads it was okay to get hit, so he deliberately got hit at the start of every battle so he wouldn't have to fight at all. I mean, I doubt that's happened more than once, but still…"

"Why wouldn't a Storm Trooper want to fight?" Tori blinked in surprise.

"Eh. Mad at his CO, lost all hope, is done suppressing his laziness, that sort of thing," I shrugged, taking a gulp of water. "It's really just a hypothetical I dreamed up on the spot to justify hyperbole."

"Okay then," She replied, looking at me oddly before going to her blue milk. "So where are you from?"

"I was an orphan on Coruscant," I answered. "You?"

"Same. I mean I'm from Coruscant, not that I'm an orphan," Tori replied with a frown. "I didn't know you were an orphan. I thought I saw you in the Royal Academy more than once. Sorry, my mistake."

"That's because I went to the Royal Academy," I explained with a small smile. "Junior and Senior tracks."

"How?" Tori asked with a frown.

"How what?" I asked, fighting to keep my smile from growing on my face so she didn't think I was mocking her.

"How did you get into the Royal Academy?" She expounded with a confused look. "I thought you needed a recommendation to get in."

"I got admitted to the Junior track, which I don't believe is as popular as the Senior track," I began to explain before taking a sip of water. Going to need a refill soon. "I imagine I got in due to lack of applicants, or perhaps higher than average test scores or because admitting orphans looks good even if they flunk out. Maybe some combination of all three. Once I graduated Junior Track with flying colors, they had to let me into the Senior track, recommendation or no."

"Huh," Tori said, taking another gulp of her blue milk.

I wish I liked it. Maybe it's an age thing? I tried it when I was about six or so.

"Well, forgive my surprise then," Tori replied sheepishly.

"Meh," I waved it off. "No offense taken. Besides, if every orphan in Coruscant was capable of doing what I did, we wouldn't have any enlisted personnel, would we?"

"No," She replied with a growing smile. "No, I guess we wouldn't."

* * *

"Alright, Candidates," SGM Brigand said, his hands clasped behind his back. "Today, the Highlander is moving out to take part of Operation _Firing Duds_. It's our first set of orders for this Wargame and that means that we need to run our little corner of paradise like it's the inside of a droid; precise and no wasted energy. Do you understand that?"

"Yes sir," We both replied at the same time.

"Good. We're being moved to Orbit over Kuat, where we'll engage in chest pounding with other Star Destroyers in our line for a few hours before the opposing fleet moves in and the real 'fight' begins. During which, the Platoon will collect and don its armor," SGM Brigand explained, the soft clattering of his robotic fingers the only audible hint that he was starting to get a little nervous. But why would he be nervous? "And I use the term 'fight' loosely. We'll be using very low power cannons and dud torpedoes. We wouldn't even be able to knock a Tie-Fighter out with the low power we're using. Any questions?"

"We'll be able to switch to full power and actual torpedoes if something goes wrong, right, sir?" I asked, not letting the little bit of worry we'll be unprepared when something goes wrong appear on my face.

"Of course, Candidate," Brigand answered with a firm nod. "The Captain of the Line was _quite_ clear about the necessity of being prepared."

So, something is absolutely going to go wrong.

"What are the actual odds of something going wrong?" Tori asked with a frown.

"Low. Very low," Brigand answered. "But it never hurts to be prepared. Now that's enough questions. Plite, I want each suit of armor in this armory inspected for malfunctions. Orton, check on those E-11's. I have several reports I need to go over before I assist the both of you in your tasks. Get too it."

"Yes sir," We both nodded, spinning on our heels and heading to our designated stations.

I picked up a diagnostic tool, designed to scan one suit of armor at a time and then let me log the results to the armory's datastores. If, during the course of my duty, I find an error in one of the suits, I'm to stretch it out on the island table in the center and fix the problem, if I can.

"Attention. We will be entering hyperspace in five standard minutes," The voice on the intercom said. "Estimated arrival is twenty standard minutes. That is all."

This suit is fine, this suit is fine, this suit is not fine. Errors across the board. Alright, let's see.

I pulled out the package of armored plates, so stacked with the boots and stacked inside the chest for easy storage. It was sitting on the black body-glove that each trooper wore underneath it and I grabbed that one too. After setting both on the table, I went back and grabbed the helmet.

First, let's check the helmet. I turned it up to look at the guts. At first glance, everything appeared to be in order. The holographic displays on the eyepieces looked fine. Comm unit was fine. And…hello, what's this?

I reached inside and rubbed my thumb against the roof, my finger…meeting the exact same type of paint used to paint over the decelerator of my speeder bike those months ago. It wasn't wet, but I recognized the texture. Hastily, opened a drawer and grabbed a micro-scraper, reaching inside and started scraping away, revealing a hastily painted over hole with a device of some kind drilled into it. I plied it free from the hole and brought it up to my eyes.

This is a tracking device.

"Sir, we have a problem," I said, calling to my superior.

"What is it, Candidate?" Brigand walked over from his terminal.

"I found an illegal tracking device drilled into the top of this helmet," I replied, bringing the device up. He took it for examination. "The hole was painted over, sir."

"How did you find this?" Brigand asked with a frown.

"The diagnostic tool lit up with errors across the board for this suit of armor, sir," I answered with a nod. "This isn't the only problem with this suit of armor, this is just the first one I was able to find, sir."

"Which shelf did you pull this from?" Brigand asked, taking the device into his enclosed hand.

"That one, sir." I pointed right at the spot I removed it from.

"That's Lieutenant Dallus's armor," Brigand replied a crease forming on his brow as he started to grow more and more displeased with current events.

Oh. The leader of our Platoon. Fantastic. Someone wanted to know where our Lieutenant was. This is starting to feel like one of Murphy's diabolical plans and he's just now starting to crack up in evil laughter.

"Orton, come here," Brigand barked.

"Yes sir?" She clearly had been too focused on her duties to pay attention to our exchanged as she looked more perturbed about being barked at instead of current events.

"Were either of you in the armory last night?" Brigand asked with a frown.

"No sir," I shook my head.

"We were off duty sir," Tori also shook her head. "We spent the time in one of the lounges before retiring to our quarters. Our individual quarters, sir."

"So, neither of you saw anything?" Brigand asked with a frown. "No one coming to the armory illegally?"

"No sir," we answered at once.

He looked thoughtful. "Orton, change in plans. I want you and Plite to perform a thorough examination of one of the diagnostic tool. Because there is no way whoever planted this little bug thought they would get away with it without also sabotaging the tools."

"Sabotage?" Tori looked aghast.

"You have your orders, Orton," Brigand barked.

"Yes sir," she recovered beautifully.

We grabbed another diagnostic tool. I handed Tori a hydrospanner and she unscrewed the casing quickly. She pried it open and on the circuit board was planted a chip of some kind that certainly did not belong there. I was so glad they actually covered the inner workings of the diagnostic tool in the Academy, or I might've actually needed this explained to me.

"Sir, we've found an illegal modification," Tori pried the thing from the circuit board easily enough.

"That's what I thought," Brigand was glowering at the thing. Then he handed Tori the one I was using. "Check this one as well, Candidate."

"Yes sir," She did the same and as she pried open the casing, another chip just like the one Tori had just discovered fell from the casing. It hadn't attached properly. "Another one, sir."

"We got very lucky," Brigand breathed out. "Alright. Plite, finish your inspection of the armor. Orton, go over the blasters again with the repaired diagnostic tools. I want each instance of sabotage recorded for investigation. "

"Attention, attention," The Intercom began. "We have received an Imperial Distress signal and we will be moving to assist. Jumping to hyperspace in thirty seconds. Estimated arrival is in three standard minutes. All on duty troopers are to be armed and ready in that time."

Brigand went pale as a sheet. To be fair, so did I. There were saboteurs on our ship and now there was an unscheduled side trip. He rushed to the terminal and placed a call on the Emergency line, the terminals screen going red as he did.

"Jumping to Hyperspace," The Intercom intoned.

"Sir, the blasters are rigged to explode," If there was something Tori was, it was fast. The E-11 in front of her was in pieces and she uncovered something very similar to the trial Brigand had given me. Except the blaster gas wasn't locked shut.

"This is High Colonel Zipir," A strong male voice came onto the line.

"High Colonel Zipir, sir," Brigand began, just barely keeping the panic out of his voice. "This is Sergeant Major Brigand of the 6th platoon. We've just uncovered signs of major sabotage in the equipment of my platoon."

"Explain. Now," Zipir ordered.

"There was an illegal tracking beacon installed in the Lieutenant Dallus's helmet and the blasters of my platoon have all been rigged to explode once the trigger has been pulled," Brigand replied quickly and decisively. "Each of the diagnostic tools has similarly been sabotaged. I think this is a symptom of ship-wide sabotage, especially in the event of surprise distress signal."

"Brigand, you are to continue your investigation. Fix every hint of sabotage you can find and get your platoon battle ready immediately," Zipir ordered. "I'll have Lieutenant Colonel Phineas also order the other quartermasters to check for sabotage."

"Yes sir, but what about the distress signal sir?" SGM Brigand was starting to calm down.

"I'll handle it," Zipir harshly reassured. "Follow your orders Sergeant Major. High Colonel Zipir out."

"Plite assist Orton in getting the blasters ready," Brigand ordered. "38 of them. Now. When you're done, help me sort out the armor."

"Exiting hyperspace," The intercom intoned, sounding for all the world like a dispassionate and bored commentator announcing the end of the world.

No sooner had it finished its sentence that the Red Alert klaxons had started sounding. "All troopers to battle stations. All troopers to battle stations. The Highlander is under attack. Repeat…"

"Get those blasters ready now!" Brigand bellowed, now in full swing panic.

Then the ship shook for a second, the lights getting blindingly bright before they cut out entirely, leaving us in darkness. I grabbed the flashlight attached to my belt and turned it on, illuminating the darkness.

This, in a way, is my fault.

See, I had assumed that my tour here on the Star Destroyer would be easy. I had been taunting Murphy with my very thought process, for even thinking that a tour on a giant war vessel would be even close to as quiet as my time in the Academy. Because this was a giant warship and I wasn't required to do any fighting.

But no.

Said giant warship has been hit with an ion cannon ripped from The Empire Strikes back.

No one in my platoon has their armor.

And the lights are out.

* * *

 _Authors Notes: I want to say thanks to all the people on Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity for all of your help with this story. The sheer amount of brainstorming you guys do is, honestly, an inspiration that I really enjoy. For those on Fanfic, I appreciate all of your reviews. You guys help a lot._

 _Shout out goes out too_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba _and_ Valphrim. _You guys are the best. Thank you._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my pa tre on_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _For those of you whom are reading this on FFnet, the link is www dot pa tre on dot com slash fulcon. I am sorry it's not in a better form, FF despises my links and I can't get them to work. Thank you for your interest and I'm sorry for the inconvenience._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	14. Warzone

_The following is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

* * *

Wait, where exactly are the other two? I looked around with my flashlight. There's Sergeant Major Brigand, clean shaven, bald, cybernetic limbs that stuck outside of his uniform. Stocky. Where's…okay, there's Tori. Heart-shaped head, head shorter than me, pale skin, black hair cut into a bob, athletic build.

"Ow, hey!" Tori snapped, placing her hand in front her eyes. "Watch it with the flashlight!"

"Sorry," I replied sheepishly.

"Cut the chatter. You've both got work to do, get it done," SGM Brigand ordered sharply. "The lights going out aren't an excuse to shirk. Move!"

"Yes sir," We both replied, getting back to work as the ship shook slgihtly from taking some kind of hit.

My hair was standing up on end.

Between the two of us, fixing up the blasters didn't take long at all. Each of them were sabotaged in the exact same way and it became rote to simply take them apart, solder the wired properly and put them back together. Not saying I could do it blindfolded, but…well, actually. I'm force sensitive, so I probably could do it blindfolded if pressed.

I screwed the final barrel on and placed the blaster in the 'fixed' pile the two of us had set up. "Blasters fixed, sir."

"Good work," Brigand replied. "The armors have all passed inspection so when they get here, they'll be ready."

We're about to get hit with drop-pods.

On the other side of the counter, the roof exploded inward with a shriek of metal and a shower of sparks as the incoming drop-pod pierced through the light-fixtures on the ceiling. The point came apart, retracting and making an opening where…

Are those battle droids?

I couldn't see what color they were painted but yeah! Battle Droids right out of the Phantom Menace. We took cover behind the counter as blaster bolts rocketed over the camera. By my count, there were nine units. Peek over to make sure, oh boy. They have a _Super_ Battle Droid with them. That's ten. We've got a squad on our hands.

Wait, this thing doesn't have a stock? This blaster, that I'm holding in my hands right now, doesn't have an extendable stock. Why? Why does this not have a stock? All the blasters in the academy had stocks! This is the worst! Whatever, I'll make due.

Peek up, shoot one, two, then drop back below cover before a well-aimed shot takes out my head. "Two enemies down!"

Brigand stood up, laid down suppressing fire on full auto before dropping back down. "Two enemies down."

Blaster bolts soared over our heads, and several suits of armor that were on the table after inspections had got blasted. The undamaged armor needed to be on the floor where it wouldn't get shot so the platoon had something they could use if they got here.

I jumped up and shoved each of the collapsed stack of armor down off the island counter in the center, as fast as I could. Push the armor to the left, lean to dodge the blaster bolts coming for my back. Then to the right, same deal and drop back down. "Armor secure, sir!"

Brigand looked at me like I had grown a second head. He shook it off. "Good work candidate!"

Tori stood over cover squeezing three shots out, the bolts missing her completed. "Two enemies down!"

That leaves four left. Alright, that's good. Willing to bet that the Super is still up, though. Peek up, yup, there it is and it's starting walking toward us. Get down, ready the rifle. Get up, one shot, two, and then three, and all that's left is the super battle droid. "Three enemies down!"

"Sir, do we have Ion grenades for these droids?" Tori asked, sounding about as panicked as I felt.

"No," Brigand barked back. "We weren't issued any! Now stand and bring down that Droid!"

"Yes sir!" We both shouted at once, standing and letting our blasters loose on the thing on full auto. Or at least we tried. I restricted myself to two shots per trigger because recoil on this thing is disgusting. Our blaster bolts left marks, knocked it around slightly and stopping it from hitting SGM Brigand in the face with a well-placed shot. Eventually, our hail of blaster fire tore through the things armor, exposing its circuits and letting us fry its guts. In a plume of fire, it finally went down.

I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding, relief flooding my system and my hands were shaking. I moved to salute SGM Brigand. "Armory Secured, sir."

First encounter with real combat and it had been a total victory. Being a dirty skill thief in the academy had paid off in _droves_.

"What? No, it's not!" Brigand barked with a sharp glare. The lights actually started to flicker on as power was restored, annoying klaxons going off and all. "Plite! Lock the front door! Orton, get on the security console and see if our platoon is close! Move it, Candidates!"

"Yes sir!"

I exited the behind the counter and ran up to the front door. Two seconds later, I had it locked down completely. No one's coming in or out. "Door is locked, sir!"

"Very good! Orton, when our platoon shows up, you are to tell Plite so he can open the door for him," Brigand ordered sharply.

"Yes sir!" We both said loudly.

Alright. The CIS hasn't been seen for twelve years but here they are, attacking our Star Destroyer with a planetary installation and drop pods. There's been extensive, possibly ship-wide sabotage that hints heavily toward this being an inside job. Finally, the droids were given enough intel to broadcast a distress signal we'd jump towards.

Given that it's not impossible for an Imperial Moff or Admiral to find a droid control station and refit it for personal use and the aforementioned extensive sabotage, it's only a question of who pissed off who and why I'm caught in the crossfire.

Well, I'm Force Sensitive, so that answers the last question in its entirety.

"Sir, our platoon is here," Tori reported.

"Let me see," Brigand said, stomping over to the terminal a little more forcefully than usual. "That's them. Plite!"

"Opening door, sir!" I replied and immediately, the armory was swarmed with men as our four squads ran inside…wait, I've seen the armory crowded with the Platoon. This is not as full as it should've been…we've lost some people, didn't we?

"Sergeant Major Brigand! Report!"Lieutenant Gallus was a tall, bulky man with short red hair cut short in a buzz. His hat was gone, I imagine he lost it in the fight. "What's the status of the armory?"

"Lieutenant, Sir!" Brigand began. "Armory is secured and we've been hard at work undoing sabotage to our equipment, sir!"

"Good work," Gallus replied.

"Oh, that's just great," One trooper said. "Sabotage. We're dealing with droids _and_ rebels. That's just great."

"Stow it, Ryder!" Gallus barked. "I want everyone in armor! Now!"

"Yes sir!" The Platoon shouted in unison before running into the armor.

Watching them get ready was like watching a well-oiled machine start to work for the first time. Even as they picked their sets of armor off of the ground, no movement was wasted, no effort was pointless. In less than a standard minute, the entire platoon was wearing their armor with their blasters at the ready.

"Alright, Platoon! Listen up!" Gallus barked out. "Our objective is to help secure deck four. We'll meet with the rest of our company in section six and hold it against the droids. The pods are leaving the rooms vacuumed when they detach, so I want everyone to be sealed."

"Sir! What about the pod in this room?" I asked immediately.

"We need to get out of here as fast as possible before it detaches," Gallus replied without missing a beat. "Brigand! Do we have spare armors for the Candidates?"

"No, sir!" Brigand replied immediately.

"Kriff," Gallus groaned. "Sergeant Ryder, Squad Three is to escort the Candidates to the escape pods and then rendezvous with us on Deck 4. Candidates, don't use the Escape Pods until the absolute last minute, there's nothing stopping them from blasting you out of space."

"Yes sir," We said at once.

Why don't they have spares? Seriously, that's annoying. Spare armors for the Candidates. Though, I guess since we were supposed to be on a training mission we're not fully equipped with everything. Where's the rest of the armor? Getting refurbished at the armor factory?

"Alright, move out!" Gallus barked and we ran out as fast as possible the door closed behind us and right after that happened, the lights went out again and this sickening _thump_ was heard from the Armory which came with a vicious knot forming in the bottom of my stomach.

The armory is now in vacuum. Fantastic.

"Candidates, this way," Ryder, a man who I've only met once before, the white armor gleaming in the red lights that came with being reduced to emergency power.

"Yes sir!"

As we ran down the corridor and then through a door, we finally came to a hall with windows. Well positioned windows, too, because I finally saw what's been shooting at us.

Is that an asteroid?

Yeah, a bright, white-ashen colored asteroid, to be precise. Shaped like a potato. From this distance, I could make out the Ion Canon and hanger bays built on the things surface. A couple of ties flew past the window, which had me breathe a sigh of relief when I saw them vaporize a drop pod.

We came to another door, the console to open the thing flashing a bright, red warning light.

"Sergeant, the corridor's been breached," One of the troopers reported.

"Corporal, plot us another way around," Ryder barked angrily.

"Yes Sergeant," The Corporal replied after plugging a datapad into the console. "We've got a route back around where we came. Go to a storage room and use the maintenance access to drop a floor, that'll bring us right to the escape pods."

"Good work," Ryder replied. "Alright, squad, you heard him! Move out!"

There's droids back where we came now.

The Squads initial two came to the end of the corridor, taking defensive positions at the end of the door. It slowly opened. "Enemy contact!"

Blaster bolts whizzed through the air as each of us pressed against the wall. My back was to the window, and an explosion form outside shined in my face. I really hope that was an enemy that just got shot down…wait, are there Vulture Droids out there? I didn't see. Probably.

"Hostiles down!" One of the guys barked.

"Move out!" Sergeant Ryder replied.

You know, given my status as Officer Candidate and thus really, really low on the totem pole, it's severely unlikely that I'll ever actually learn what happened here. That's really, really aggravating on dozens of different levels.

We ran around, taking cover behind door frames and around corners. Sparks flew as one of the troopers took a shot to the head, collapsing to the floor. He was still alive, barely. Just unconscious. "Hostiles down!"

"Move out!"

"We're just going to leave him?" I asked, not entirely surprised but definitely dumbfounded.

"We were given a mission to get you to the escape pods," Ryder shouted in response. "He knew the risks, come on!"

…alright, then. That's reason number _two_ to defect. First was whatever her name was at the Academy. How many strikes am I willing to give them? Am I really going to just ignore everything they do until I complete SCAR training?

That might end up getting disturbingly easy…

The door opened to a storage unit. "The maintenance access is behind this crate."

I just moved up and pushed the thing out of the way. "Let's go!"

Technically, I outranked everyone in the squad. I was only a candidate, so I wasn't given command and it'd be really stupid to ignore Sergeant Ryder because that would end up on my record, but it came with the perk that I could actually act without his say-so if I so chose.

So, it might be possible to go back for that trooper in a minute if we're left alone.

A trooper, I presume it was the Corporal, pulled the hatch open and one of the grunts descended first, then another, then Tori was beckoned, then me. The tunnel was claustrophobic and almost didn't leave enough room for me to move my arms and descend the ladder. The dull red lights continued to light our way.

"We want exit 2-A," The Corporal said from above.

"Here it is," A grunt replied, pushing open the hatch.

One by one, we each exited through the hatch, coming into another cargo area, stacked high with boxes. The two grunts went ahead to scout out the other corners of the room while the rest of the squad filed in.

"ENEMY CON-!" One of the two scouts ahead went down to a hail of blaster bolt. He was dead, having taken four shots to the chest and one to the head. I gulped as one moment he was alive and well, next he was dead. I hefted my blaster and as one of the droids came around the corner, the Sergeant took it out before I could get a bead on him.

Actually, I'm surprised Storm Troopers are actually shooting straight here. Granted, they were ordered to miss Skywalker and company if I remember correctly…though I don't remember the reason.

What happened next was a huge firefight with the crates being used as a choke point. Four droids in total, including a super battle droid, tried to come take shots at us from the choke point and we laid into them. The super droid went down a lot easier this time just because there were more guns.

I'm honestly just glad that the droids are still idiots, but I'm starting to rue the day that someone thought it a good idea to create Sapient AI.

Well, not entirely.

 _Remember Mom._

"Advance," Ryder ordered and we moved, stepping over the corpse of our fallen trooper, opening the door. "Escape pods are down this corridor. Move."

We took the right turn, moving down. Behind us, the troopers shot at droids as we turned the corner. The corporal opened the door to the pods immediately and we slid inside, the door closing behind us.

"How many contacts?" Ryder asked.

"Six, Sergeant," A grunt responded. "No supers."

"Oh good," Ryder said. "Corporal, are the pods ready to go?"

"Negative, Sir," The Corporal replied. "They've all been jettisoned from a terminal on the bridge."

You have got to be kidding me.

"Oh, that's just great!" Ryder barked. "I'm going to raise the Lieutenant on coms to let him know."

The door opened behind us, three droids standing in a line and I believe the other three were around the corners. The three just standing there got exactly one shot off each, only knocking out one of our troops before they got put down.

One of the troopers pulled out an ion grenade and tossed it, hitting the door frame and knocking it into the group of droids.

Alright, that was actually impressive.

Wait, shouldn't Ryder be trying to raise the Sergeant on the coms? Oh, he is. He just turned off the speaker for his helmet for whatever reason. He had his fingers to his helmets temple, a sign to let everyone know that he's on the phone.

"Hallway secure," One of the grunts was peeking around the doorframe.

"Very good," The Corporal nodded.

"Alright," Ryder started. "Lieutenant wants you two to secure this room and destroy any droids that come near here, you understand?"

Stay put and don't get in the way. I understand perfectly. These are also orders from my actual CO so I can't just ignore him. "Yes, sir!"

"Very good!" Ryder barked. "Squad move out!"

And they left, leaving Tori and myself to our own devices.

Tori's fingers were tightening around her E-11's handle, her foot tapping. She was licking her lips without stopping as anxious thoughts went through her skull. "Ummm…this might sound bad, but…"

"Go ahead, not judging," I told her.

"Why do I get the feeling we were just left to die?" Tori asked, sounding anxious.

"It's a possibility," I shrugged. "They made the effort to get us out of the combat zone, but that didn't pan out, so they're leaving us here, away from the main strategic areas where the fighting is likely to happen. But that doesn't mean there won't be droids or stuff, but you know."

"Right," Tori nodded. "Right, yeah. We're away from the fighting."

I wonder if the pod bays can open up to the vacuum of space again? I know there's a mechanical lock on the pod bays to prevent all the air from being sucked out of the ship, but can that lock be disabled remotely? I don't _think_ it can, only manually and it stays unlocked if a pod is loaded in.

Thank the Force.

"I think we're going to die," Tori said with a frown.

"Eh, don't think like that," I told her with a smile. "Come on, we can shoot, we know where they're going to be coming from. Worst case is a drop pod crashing into this very room and even then, we'd just have to move."

"How can you be so calm?" She demanded eyes wide with incredulous anger. "This was supposed to be a training exercise!"

"Eh, I learned a while ago how to deal with stress," I shrugged. "Honestly, stressful situations become the norm after a while and then it takes a lot to rattle you."

"But we're going to die," She was starting to lose it.

"Please tell me you're not going to just curl up into a ball," I asked in my most bland, patronizing voice. "I thought a Storm Trooper is supposed to fight before they die."

She growled darkly. "I'm not giving up without a fight. But we're still dead."

"There we go. We might just get out of this, now," I replied with a smile.

Then the worst happened. In a thunderous roar of screaming metal, a drop-pod dug its way into our little room and opened without missing a beat.

* * *

 _Author's Note: This chapter was really hard to write. I hope it was as entertaining for you guys as it ended up being for me, though. Other than that, not much to say other than I've wondered why Battle Droids weren't ever appropriated for private use away from the Empire._

 _Shout-out goes out too:_ Sanne Berg, Melden V, Rohan Kirby, Hackerham, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba _and_ Valphrim. _Thanks guys, your continued support means the world to me._

 _If_ you _are interested in helping me produce more content like this, please check out my_ _! You'll help me out a lot, obtain my undying gratitude and get your name written in the Author's Notes down here, as well as a spot in the end credits as one of my favorite people in the world._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	15. Pursued

_The following is a fan based work of fiction. Star Wars is the property of the Walt Disney Company._ Please support the official release.

 _Author's Note: I do wish to note, before we begin, that I was mistaken about some Military ranks, and as such have had to switch things around. Dallus is now Lieutenant and Brigand is now a Master Sergeant since he was conceptualized as a quartermaster anyway. In earlier drafts, Brigand was Lieutenant and then a Sergeant Major, which people who are actually familiar with such things have commented is far too high and downright wrong._

 _So, hence the switch. Enjoy the chapter._

* * *

Tori opened the door behind me, bolts from her rifle rushing past me to impact the first, then second droid as the fell out of the pod. I took shots myself, taking out the third before we were out of the room and the door was shut behind us.

"You were saying?" Tori snarled then jumped back and going into a kneeling position with her rifle raised as bolts came flying toward us from the droids down the hall.

"That's unfortunate," I replied, still trying to keep calm. The hall didn't have cover, but thankfully there were only three droids and we could actually aim worth something. They went down fast. "That just means we got to find another position before the droids behind us open the door."

"Oh, great!" Tori said, rushing again down the corridor. "Well, come on then!"

"Right behind you," I responded, dashing after her.

We went down the corridor, something exploded outside the windows and from what I could see, it was a Tie. Great. We took the first left and heard an explosion behind us as the door we locked was blown open.

Now the question was 'would the door shut before the pot detaches and depressurizes this area?' and the answer, I presume given by the sound of mechanical feet coming down the corridor is 'yes'. Tori opened a door into a droid maintenance room, which we both dove into and the door shut behind us.

The sound of marching, blaster-fire and explosions were muted in this sealed area. The shadows and red light painted everything in a grim shade. Standing in the droid bays were imperial protocol droids which were standing and held up by chains in various states of disassembly. The images brought to mind skeletons chained up in a dungeon. Tucked away in the corners were piles of mouse droids and the occasional R5-Astromech.

"We need to contact Lieutenant Dallus," Tori said, the grip on her rifle tightening audibly as the gloves she was wearing squeezed against the weapon. "Tell him we had to move."

"Right," I nodded, reaching for my communicator and finding the spot on my belt were it usually hung empty. "Ah, no…I think I forgot it."

"You forgot?" Tori blinked in shock before shaking her head in anger. "How could you forget your comm?"

"Eh, the only people I really talk too are you and Brigand." I shrugged. "So it's not like it really does a lot for me."

"Unbelievable," She barked, slapping her forehead and sliding it down her face. "At least I wasn't dumb and forgot my-oh no."

"You forget yours too?" I asked with an amused smirk. Hey, we're in a life or death situation here, might as well get your chuckles where you can.

"No," Tori shook her head again. "I don't know what it is, but the clasp on my belt is loose, so my communicator keeps slipping out."

"Well, that's just unlucky," I replied, nodding. "Did you requisition a new one?"

"Yes," Tori snapped back at me. "I wasn't going to get it until tomorrow. What's your excuse, did you have a memory leak? Are you a droid?"

"No excuse," I shrugged. "Nothing to do about it now other than make sure it doesn't happen again."

Seriously, though. This is bad. Thanks to my colossal screw up which honestly came about from a lack of caution, means we don't have any way of communicating with our platoon. Which in turn, means we're entirely on our own. We can't exactly back-track to find her communicator either due to the droids behind and ahead of us. And if she dropped it back in the armory, it's floating around in space now since that place is vacuum now.

"Why are you being so calm right now?" Tori asked, sounding even angrier. "This is not the time to be calm! We have no coms because of you!"

"What purpose would flipping out serve?" I asked with a calm, intellectual air. I don't sense any danger heading our way, so I think we're fine.

"You forgot your coms!"

"I did."

"We're in serious trouble because of you!"

"We are."

"Are you suicidal?" Tori was desperately trying to restrain herself from shouting, even though she desperately wanted too. "Is that what it is? Because I can help you along and I don't need someone dragging me down while _I'm_ trying to live!"

"No, not suicidal," I answered, shaking my head. "I just know that panicking isn't going to help matters."

Thank you, meditation.

She couldn't even talk right now, giving me the mother of all death glares and trying to force more anger out of her throat trying and failing to get more than frustrated grunts through her grit teeth. Eventually she gave up, threw her hands up into the air with a groan and walked over to the droid maintenance terminal.

"What're you looking for?" I asked, hopping onto a large crate which I resume contains droid-parts and assuming a watch.

"Communications channel," Tori grunted. "Need to reach the Lieutenant or someone to let them know we're down here."

 _Smart_. Very smart. If we can raise them, it won't matter that neither of us have our personal comm units. But given how everything else has been going today… "How much you want to bet that coms have been partially sabotaged?"

"Don't even," Tori growled. "Aha! Calling the Lieutenant now."

"Oh, cool," Excellent.

"This is Lieutenant Dallus," The Lieutenant answered amidst the sounds of blaster-fire. "Speak fast."

"Lieutenant, sir, this is Officer Candidate Victoria Orton," Tori explained immediately. "The pod bay we were ordered to guard was breached by a boarding pod and we had to move. Now we're here in Maintenance Bay 4-C."

"Good job!" Dallus sounded strained. "Orders are the same, stay put and guard the room. Don't call us again unless you're forced to move."

"Yes sir!" Tori replied and the line went dead.

Despite everything I've ever seen in the movies, I think we're going to be okay. Partially because the droids are actually _worse_ from what I've seen here, they've just caught us by surprise and because I actually trust that the people upstairs know what they're doing and can get us out of here safely because they aren't against the rebellion which has the Force on its side.

You know, the trailers for 'the Force Awakens' actually made 'The Light Side' a thing where it used to be that there was 'The Force' and then the cancerous tumor called 'The Dark Side of the Force'. The reason the 'good guys' always won is because the Force was using its metaphysical antibodies to remove 'The Dark Side'. In a way, I'd almost liken the Dark Side to the Common Cold, which the Force gets sometimes but then it recovers every time.

That metaphor got weird.

Anyway, we both got to work securing the Maintenance bay. I closed, locked and disengaged the power to the door, meaning that anything wanting to get in would have to do so through the Maintenance Access. Let's just block that off, shall we?

"Give me a hand, will you?" I asked Tori, grabbing one of the large crates of droid parts and dragging it over.

"What are you trying to do?" Tori asked.

"Trying to push the crate on top of the maintenance access so droids don't come up through it," I explained slowly pulling the crate and not cringing at the sound of metal scraping on metal. "Well, at least they'll have a hard time doing it."

No one that I can tell is coming up through the maintenance pass, so this can only stop the droids from coming in.

"Won't we need that if the room gets punctured?" Tori asked with a frown.

"We've got a room above us, the windows are outside by the hall and we aren't anywhere near the hangar," I replied to her, reasoning this through for myself as well as her. "This room ain't getting punctured."

"So, what if they come through the door?" Tori asked, pointing toward the door I just locked down. "They could blast it through and then we'd have to move this crate just to get away."

"I seriously doubt they're going to check in a malfunctioning door while they're trying to clear out the crew," I replied, getting a little testy now. If the droids were going down the maintenance access, he needed to block them up. Now. "So, when the crew cleans them up, we'll be fine. But not if one of the doors the droids can use to get to us is open for business."

"But the droids haven't been able to use the maintenance access while we've been using it," Tori argued with a frown. "So why should we think they've started now?"

"Because droids can learn," I explained with a frown. "That's what's happening when they develop their personality bugs, they're learning."

"They're machines," Tori blinked. "You can't be serious."

I sighed. "Alright, whatever. If you're not going to help me out, I'll do it myself."

A little annoyed, but whatever. Can't move the crate by myself, but I have the force. Just…calm down. Let it flow through me. Just like it was with the cans. Just calm down…yeah. Now grab the crate's handles and _pull_.

The screech of metal alone was almost enough to make me stop trying because I didn't want to bring unwanted attention to our room. That, and it felt like my ears were going to start bleeding, but with lots of pulling and the force helping me out, I finally placed the crate on top of the acess-way.

"There. _Now_ the room is secure," I said, wiping my hands off with a large breath.

"When the droids come pouring in from the door, I hope you're still satisfied with yourself," Tori growled before going back to the terminal.

The attitude toward droids in this universe was interesting, to say the least. It was to blame, partially for the strange tech gaps Star Wars had. We had the Holonet but military vessels tried to keep things as 'off-the-grid' as was possible. We could create giant war vessels with automated targeting guns and highly advanced CIC's but that opened the possibility of a droid hacking the system and taking over the ship.

Which honestly annoyed me because while I was a huge fan of X-Wings and Tie Fighters, I was a bigger fan of, and I'm aware that this is blasphemy, the star ship Enterprise. Well, I was a big fan of the concept of the Enterprise, I've never actually watched Star Trek all that much. To busy watching the Star Wars movies.

But looking here? Seeing Vulture droids swarming our Ties and knowing that the Star Destroyer should be able to just lock on and shoot them down with its superior firepower? It actually grinds my gears a great deal. I mean, not enough that I'd switch over to R&D but it is enough for me to figure out how to try to figure out a working concept. I'd hate for a ship like the Enterprise to fall victim to something like what HK-51 did to Peragus some four thousand years ago.

…wait a second…

"Tori, what do you think the odds are that the droids here in the bay were sabotaged?" I asked her.

She didn't respond, but she _did_ start looking through the droid maintenance logs at her terminal. Silent treatment wasn't going to work on me, as she was going to find out. "I'd say pretty bloody likely."

"That explains a lot," I said, shaking my head. Yeah, I'm starting to think that droids were more trouble than they were actually worth. Well, most of them.

…

 _Remember Mom_.

"They were all ordered back to the bay here two days ago, where a new set of directives were uploaded into them," Tori reported. "It doesn't say what the directives were, which is against protocol. They even tried to hide that a change was even made, I had to restore the change-log to an earlier version to find out."

"So, they sabotage a bunch of imperial protocol and mouse droids to conduct sabotage throughout the ship," I sighed, taking my hat off and running my fingers through my hair. "That explains a lot."

"They might not have even needed to sabotage all of the droids, just some of them," Tori continued, her frown growing deeper and deeper as she continued with this line of thought. "And since the saboteurs had access to our systems, it's likely the droids know exactly where all the rooms and access points are."

We stood there in silence.

So, this is very similar to the Peragus space station. In my former life, that had become, from a writing stand-point, my favorite intro sequence to a video game _ever_. It was so well thought out and brilliantly executed that I honestly had felt like giving it a standing ovation. As a _gamer_ , however, it was an overly slow, plodding mess that took forever to get to the action and was way too linear for its own good.

Never before had I been in such two minds about a video game before.

Yes, I am thinking about a video game in the lull between fights. Trying to keep myself sane. I mean, I could go into full meditation, but I needed to at least be somewhat aware of my surroundings. Besides, I'm just on guard duty.

Now, you may be thinking, at this moment, that I'm going to charge off on my own, or with Tori, hijack a shuttle, fly over to the asteroid base and blow it up. And in thinking this, you would be wrong. I am leaving this entire operation to the trained soldiers who actually have a spot in the Imperial War Machine that's not 'stay in the room and pray you don't die'.

I don't want to get in the way and I don't want to lose my career because I did the impossible and got inducted into the Inquisitors. I got through this so far without doing stupidly over-competent things that were far above my training level, I can keep going. Besides, force or no, I'm not omnipotent and I could easily die.

If the Force, plot-director it may be, wants me to get through this, it's going to need to make sure that the Highlander survives _without_ me. Because getting sent to the Inquisitor's would force me to defect and I'm not ready to defect yet.

Yeah.

…go away 'I need to do something' feeling. I am not the only person on this boat that can see us through. This is a flying city filled to the brim with trained soldiers. The only thing I would end up doing is actually doing it all and then getting caught out by Vader's inquisitors. No.

No, no, no.

…

No.

…

You know, the simplest thing that differentiates the rebellion from the empire is that the Empire advocates cut-throat advancement at all costs and the rebellion respects people who try to keep their fellows alive. I can't really call myself fit for the rebellion if I don't rise to the call and I _can_ do something and it would save a lot of lives.

If I've got to guess, there's already troop transports in space while Storm Troopers are trying to clear the halls. The biggest problem we've got is that the Ion Cannon is still going and that's making getting Tie's into the air a challenge.

Besides, if this set-up works, really well, we could end up seeing the Empire 'Ion Cannon Proofing' their Star Destroyers and that'd make escaping from Hoth almost impossible. The only reason they don't do it now is because making a ship that can't be short-circuited by Ion Cannon's is because it's difficult, expensive and would take a lot of resources away from the Death Star, which Palpatine is obsessed with.

I don't wanna go out and do more. I got ordered to stay here and that's what I want to do.

So hypothetically, since I'm force sensitive and have been skill-thieving since I got to Junior Track, I have a really good chance of getting to the hangar, commandeering a shuttle or a Tie and hitting the Ion Cannon. There's a good chance that Pilots were really high on the droid's list of priority targets, just like our Lieutenants, so there's probably more than a couple spares.

I'm so dead for this. Bright side? If I succeed, I think I'll have proven that I know everything that I need to know from the Imperial Military _anyway_ , so I can leave early. If I can call that a bright side.

"Alright, well. I'd like the terminal for a second if that's alright," I said, stepping toward the crate.

"Sure, here you go," She sighed, bringing her rifle.

"Thank you," I said, taking the terminal. Alright, let's see…yeah, there's a direct path to the hangar through the maintenance passage way. Down too long ladders to get to deck 4. This terminal doesn't have security access, but there is a security office that's on the way so I can check the state of the hangar. If it's swarming with droids then I can _consider_ continuing with this insane plan.

The ship shuddered as another bolt from the Ion Cannon hit, the screen on the terminal flickering. I'm glad that many of the terminals in the ship are on their own independent battery for emergency power. Looks like it won't last much longer though…

"Alright," I said, clapping my hands together. "I'm heading off. See you soon. Maybe."

"Wait, what?" Tori asked, looking alarmed. "Where are you going?"

"Going through the maintenance access," I began, grabbing the handles of the crate I had just finished moving not two minutes ago. "Heading to a security room, seeing what the hangar is like and seeing if I can steal a bomber to go destroy the cannon."

"You what?" She looked shocked and furious. The appropriate reactions.

"Did I stutter at all?" I said before heaving the crate. It was _really_ , _really_ freaking heavy. Just…gah.

"You can't just…"

"…We were _ordered_ …"

"…throw your career in the trash…"

"…chasing delusions of grandeur…"

"… _suicide_ and that's not even counting…"

Wow, she talks fast.

I finally pulled the crate off and I had to lean on it for support for a second. "Are you done?"

"Are you insane?" She asked, not even paying attention to my question.

"Yeah," I replied, opening the hatch. "Are you done?"

"No!" Tori replied hotly.

"That's too bad," I replied, opening the door. "See you later."

She threw up her hands and I jumped down the maintenance access, getting ready to crawl down on my hands and knees and-

"Wait!" Tori said. "I'm coming with you."

I stared at her, blinking. "Did you miss the rant you just yelled at me?"

She glared at me, growling. "Listen. You're good _and_ you're smart. But you're also going to get yourself killed if you don't have someone watching your back and if we can take out the cannon fast…that might save The Highlander and everyone on it."

"Your career?" I asked with a frown.

"I don't have a career if I'm dead," Tori said, taking a breath. "The faster we kill the cannon, the more likely we'll be able to survive. I'll follow you. Alright?"

* * *

 _Author's Note: The reason I took so long to write this chapter is because, well, I was of two minds. The only way this arc would have a good ending is if Jet had something big and important to do in the ending. The problem is that Jet has literally every reason to not do anything and I didn't want him to become JETHRO PLITE: HERO OF THE EMPIRE but played straight (Caiphas Cain, if you're curious about the reference) so I was desperately trying to find a good way to bring about the ending. I've got it figured out now and I hope I'll be able to get more consistent updates._

 _Also, I went back to work on SHINOBI: THE RPG, rolling it back before things were rushing from one plot point to the other. If you're reading this on FFnet, that doesn't mean anything to you. If you're reading this on Spacebattles, well. You'll see the big change if or when I start posting again._

 _Shout out goes out too Super Patrons_ Melden V, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Trevor Fuhlman, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba, Valphrim _and_ Hackerham. _You guys are the best._

 _~Fulcon_


	16. Commandeered

_The Following is a Fanbased work of fiction. Star Wars is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please support the official release._

* * *

It was at the exact moment when Tori jumped into the hatch that the door into the maintenance bay was blown open and two super battle droids marched in, red blaster bolts pouring from their wrist cannons and going wide because these droids can't really aim.

"Oh, perfect!" I said with a smile before we both ducked down. I waited just a second for Tori to go ahead.

"Go on, I said I'd follow you!" Tori barked, shooting several bursts off.

Alright, well I guess she wants to get her hits in. Respectable. I got down on my hands and knees and started crawling forward. After a few blaster shots, I heard the hatch behind me close and Tori shuffling after me.

"You know, you were right," I called back to her. "Putting the crate on the maintenance access was a bad idea."

"You think they'll follow us?" Tori actually sounded a little pleased with herself.

"Nah, they just wanted the droid bays," I replied, shaking my head even though no one could see it. "Fix up their fallen units, you know?"

"Oh," Tori replied. "Alright, where are we heading?"

"Down a level, there's a security office," I answered. "I'm hoping to use the security network to assess the situation in the hangar. If it looks easy to infiltrate, like if there's droids in there but they're distracted or something then we can head inside, grab a flight suit and take a bomber to that cannon. And if it's not a good spot, then we call Lt. Dallus and tell him we were forced to move."

"Right, good plan," Tori answered from behind.

I'm desperately hoping that the urge I had to go do something was me misunderstanding the prompting that I needed to _move_ before we got ambushed. Like…really. That was a cadre of super battle droids, if we weren't starting to move right when we were, we would've been killed immediately.

Pop the hatch, push it open. Two battle droids, their heads shot and a blaster bolt barely misses my knee. I crawl out. "Okay. Let's see what state the hangar is in."

Standing up, I lend my hand to Tori to help her out. She takes it and stands up with a huff. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Move over to the console, check the cameras. Check the hangar and…hoo, _boy_ … "That's not good."

"Figures," Tori grunted. "How bad is it?"

"They torched the remaining fighters," I explained, gesturing to the screen which showed burnt heaps of metal and scraps where bombers and fighters had hung, awaiting deployment. A trio of vulture droids were floating around, using their four legs as stilts and battle droids were securing other areas.

Part of me wondered why we hadn't kept that kind of technology the vulture droids had. The ability to shift from fighter to ground would be very useful. Ooh, now I'm thinking that having a fighter that could switch between fighter for high-atmosphere operations and attack helicopter for urban operations would be cool…

Focus. "Alright, let's call the Lieutenant."

"A shame," Tori sighed. "Here I thought we were going off to save the Highlander, but our plan is dead in the water."

"…wait, do we have jump packs?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tori's eyes narrowed.

"Right, bad idea," I replied with a sigh, raising the Lieutenant on the line.

"This is Lieutenant Dallus," Came the strong voice of our commanding officer. "Plite? Orton? Is this you?"

"Yes sir, we had to move," I answered with a sigh. "The droid maintenance bay was seized by supers."

"Figured," Dallus sighed. "Alright listen up. The High Colonel's taken stock of our numbers and the two of you are being conscripted into active duty."

"Understood sir," I replied with a nod.

Tori made a sound like she was about to gag.

"Did Orton make it?" Dallus asked.

"Yes sir, she was securing the door," I replied with a nod.

"Very good. I'm going to put you in contact with the Corporals and I want the both of you to assist them in clearing out the corridors," Dallus explained. "Keep watch over them on the security terminal and alert them to threats."

"Yes sir," Tori and I said at the same time.

"Very good," Dallus said before three over comm units went live.

"I'll take care of that," Tori said quickly. "Can you keep watch over the door?"

"You got it," I replied with a nod, letting her have the terminal.

I took a post by the door, rifle at the ready and I started to think, my eyes never off of the door.

You know, I'm actually disappointed. I'm really, really disappointed. I thought that I was finally being forced off of my comfy couch and sent on my hero's journey. But _no_ , I'm actually getting what I wanted all along, just the ability to cruise along while everyone else did the heavy lifting.

But I was _sure_. I _knew_ that if I didn't move, this whole ship was going to go down or at least have significantly heavier casualties. But…the plan I thought of, stealing a bomber? Nipped in the bud before I even came up with it. Why did I feel like we needed to move? What purpose did we serve?

Am I delusional? Or am I just confused?

"Squad two, you're coming onto a trio of supers," Tori told them. "Be advised, they have a pair of normal behind them. Squad three, you've got a..."

"Droideka?" I offered from my spot.

"Yes, a Droideka wheeling in from your six," Tori explained. "Don't let it deploy if you can."

You know, I'm thinking that my disappointment comes from the fact that I was thinking I'd be forced to leave without ever actually joining a command of Storm Troopers. Actually, in my haste to emulate Kyle Katarn, the quintessential Star Wars character to _me_ , I didn't actually look for any alternatives to the Empire.

"Jet, we've got a squad of five closing in on us," Tori shouted at me, causing me to ready my rifle reflexively. "Normals. I'll assist…"

"Negative, Orton," Came the order from Lieutenant Dallus. "Stay on the line and keep helping the platoon. Plite, defend as best you can. Squad 1 is in-bound to provide backup."

"Yes sir," Tori and I replied immediately.

Well, alright then. Now we can see if they're coming for us at least. I partially opened the sliding door and saw the droids rushing toward us. It's a womp rat shoot, fairly simple. Shoot one, shoot another, miss the third thanks to the recoil of the rifle throwing me off and I close the door.

"Where's the droids at?" I think they took cover, but I want to be sure.

"They've taken cover behind a storage crate that was left in the hall at the attack," Tori confirmed for me. "I think they're signaling for assistance."

"Fantastic," I breathed, looking around. Of all the times to not have grenades handy. I should've grabbed a pair while I was still in the armory. Well, there's always next time. "Alright, I'm going to charge them. There's no one else coming, right?"

"You're in-," Tori shook her head. "Fine, go. But if you die, I'll kill you."

"I'm sure the second death will be much worse than the first," I replied with more than a little snark as I slid out of the security room. Look both ways, nothing. CHARGE!

My legs pumped as hard as they were able as I charged the box where three droids were waiting. My first target was about to peek around to investigate the noise of my boots on the floor. Aim, fire! It went down. Jump to the side as come up to the crate. Take out another, then miss as the recoil threw off the final shot.

The final droid took aim at me as I fumbled to aim back at him from my position on the side. I swiftly shifted to lay on my back, causing the droids blaster bolt to miss me by mere millimeters, my uniform getting a burnt spot where it passed over. I hit the droid with a shot, the rifle nearly flipping from my hand and bruising my fingers thanks to my poor grip on the weapon.

Okay, got to get back to the security office. Get back, get back, get back, get back…

"Plite are you always that lucky?" Tori was looking at me from her seat with an incredulous look in her eyes.

"No. Usually, I don't miss," I replied with a sigh, shutting the door behind me. "How are the squads?"

With a shocked expression, she whirled around to look at the console. Then she hissed in shock. "Squad two, you've got droids ahead and behind, be advised. There's no droids in the adjacent barracks, you can take cover."

Makes sense she was watching me the whole time. If I went down, it would just be her here. A little annoying.

"Jet, get the door," Tori barked at me. "The Lieutenant is here with the squad."

I opened the door and there was the cadre of Troopers. I sprung into a salute. "Lieutenant, sir!"

"At ease, Candidate," Dallus ordered, his voice carrying the tin of a speaker. "You took out those droids by yourself?"

"Yes sir," I nodded.

"…Good shooting," Dallus replied after a moment. "Alright, here's what's going to happen. Private Idra here let a Droideka deploy behind him and he's lucky it's scanning software malfunctioned. He's got radiation poisoning from the shield, but he's otherwise fine. He's going to lend you his armor and you're going to take his place."

"Yes sir!" I nodded, not even going to ask. "Thank you, sir."

"Sir, what do you mean by 'malfunction'?" Tori asked by the console.

"We hit it with blaster bolts before it deployed," Dallus responded. "Idra was scouting forward and the droideka came between us and him. That answer your question, Candidate?"

"Yes sir," Tori nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Idra sat down and just started taking his armor off, his motions slow and sluggish like a man who was seasick and had trouble moving.

"Lieutenant, permission to help the Private undress himself?" Brigand asked irritably.

"Granted, Master Sergeant," Dallus responded.

Brigand, whose cybernetic limbs I could hear moving underneath his armor, moved fast, taking the privates armor off more than helping him and…yeah. Idra, a man with tanned skin and black hair, looked _nauseous_. I'm pretty sure he was going to start vomiting and we didn't have time to get him to a med bay.

The black body-glove came off, revealing the black t-shirt and trousers that most non-coms wore, which left me to put the darn thing on. It was smelly and uncomfortable because these weren't _my_ juices stinking up the place but whatever. I'm guessing I've proven I'm a much better shot than this Pvt. Or I wouldn't be getting his armor for the duration of this combat operation.

"Sir, how's the situation looking?" I asked as I started piling pieces of armor on.

"Master Sergeant, brief the candidate while I take the rest of squad 1 to secure the immediate area," Dallus ordered.

"Yes sir," Brigand nodded and the squad followed Dallus out. "Alright, to answer your question. The bombers took out the cannon-"

Figures. We hadn't had a power outage in a while, so it makes sense.

"-and the droids took out the bombers. Now our Fighters are Fighting Their fighters and the Highlander's laying into the asteroid base with it's remaining weapons," Brigand finished. "Good news is that the droids are mostly scrubbed from the ship. Bad news is that the Asteroid has Hyperdrive and we need to get on board and disable it before it jumps."

"What if it jumps while we're aboard, sir?" I asked, sliding the helmet into place. The holographic display on the lenses turned on, giving me tags on the HUD identifying Brigand and Tori behind me through the narrow lenses of the helmet. Huh, visibility really is limited in this thing. Guess I'm getting a crash course in seeing through the force.

"Then we're kriff'd, Candidate," Brigand replied seriously. "We need to go."

…man, why couldn't I have gotten the blinder and the remote and the lightsaber to learn this trick? Like Luke did? I would've _way_ preferred that.

I just realized I'm technically older than one of my child-hood heroes. Not even counting both of my lives.

Tori stood and walked up behind me. "Jet?"

"Yes?" I turned to face her.

"Take off the helmet for a minute?" She requested, placing her hands behind her back.

I turned to Brigand.

"You've got a minute," He said, turning around. "Report to me when you're ready."

"Yes sir," I replied, sliding the helmet off and turned to face her. "Wha-"

Didn't get to finished. She grabbed my breastplate with both hands and pulled me in, planting her lips on mine, causing my chest to explode like a firework display and my brain shut down to pull a full system restart. After I regained my senses, I broke off because _I had to go now_ before the thing jumped with or without us.

…even though I really wanted to continue.

"You come back, alright?" Tori pointed her finger at my chest. "And come back alive."

"You got it," I replied, sliding the helmet back on.

Well. Did not expect that – okay, I kind of did but it was in the back of my mind. I came around the corner, seeing Brigand waiting patiently. "Officer Candidate Plite reporting as ordered."

"Before you turn your comms on, Plite," Brigand pointed at me. "I want to be very clear – don't either of you do anything until you're on leave. You understand?"

"Yes sir," I nodded. Anti-fraternization rules were clear. And quite strict.

"Very good," Brigand nodded. "Turn on your comms and update your IFF. it's time to report."

I flipped them on with an affirmative, taking just a brief second to change Idra's IFF to my own.

"Lieutenant, sir? You sure you want the kid along?" I think that was Corporal Rex. Understandable that he'd be hesitant to have an academy grad along who hadn't even been through _Storm Trooper_ training.

…you know, this armor is really uncomfortable.

"He has a higher kill count than Idra did," Dallus replied. "Far higher. So yes, Corporal. I do want the kid along."

Why do I get the feeling I was picked because I was a tad more expandable _as well_ as being very competent? Because I've got the feeling I was picked because I was both competent and expendable.

Then again, the Empire does prize merit quite highly, so perhaps this was just par the course. I guess Pvt. Idra's just lucky he didn't get shot to expedite the process.

"Candidate Plite reporting as ordered," I said, standing at salute.

"At ease Candidate," Dallus barked. "Troopers, we're rendezvousing with the 4th and 18th platoons to take the hanger. Zipir wants us there yesterday. Move out!"

And just like that, we were moving. I was hefting my rifle in the back alongside everyone else. I was a _little_ worried that Tori now had a sick, nauseous storm trooper with no armor for a guard but I guess since we've mostly cleared the ship of droids it shouldn't be too bad. And she's got the escape hatch.

Not going to say it's a guarantee she'll be fine…but I hope.

If this turns out to be a 'women in refrigerators' scenario, I'm going to be upset.

While we were heading down to the hangar, the Lieutenant was giving everyone a pep-talk. "Keep the pressure on the enemy, report if you see an opening and don't let any of them get away with this!"

"Yes sir!" We barked in unison…so glad I've been skill-thieving from everyone since I got here. I think I've learned more from the platoon than I did in the academy. Well, I got more practical skill here. I also find it odd that there wasn't a battle-cry. All the militaries in my previous life had one. Oorah, hooah, that sort of thing. Actually, did the air-force have a battle cry? I don't remember if they did.

Anyway, we grouped up with the squads in our platoon, and then with the other platoons and I was able to get a count of our numbers and we had clearly lost people. The whole group was about half of what it should've been, but I was happy to see that some rocket launchers in their number.

"Plite!" Dallus barked.

"Yes sir?"

"Stay with the Master Sergeant, he'll show you what to do," He ordered.

"Yes sir!"

The seconds before the battle were tense. I felt my grip on my weapon repeatedly tightening and re-tightening itself. A tension had fallen on the group as we assumed ready positions outside of the hangar's blast door. On the other side of that door was a huge number of droids, including vulture droids which could easily wipe all of us out with a single shot of their cannons.

Take a breath. Let it out.

Take a breath. Let it out.

Take a breath. Let it-

The blast doors opened and we surged forward. Rockets surged overhead, striking one of three vulture droids, two to break through their shields and two to actually bring it down. We took cover, the smoke of the hangar surprisingly not providing much of an impediment thanks to the helmets hardware and the HUD made picking out targets easier.

Take a shot. Two shots, take cover. That's two droids. Bolts from the vulture's cannons hit the ground behind me, causing an almost blinding flash of light and leaving a large, black mark on the floor, with a single flame in the center that quickly went out.

 _That thing almost took out my legs_.

More rockets shot forward and I stood from cover. Another vulture went down, but not before incinerating a large group of troopers. I fought off the urge to wince as I felt each of their lives go out in smoke. Out of cover, take another shot, then another. One droid down, two shots to a super that didn't bring it down. Fun.

"Squad 2! Bring those supers down!" Dallus ordered.

Oh, they're the ones with the rockets. I see.

Take a shot, then another. We're winning, slowly but surely. I think the droids with a red paint-job are the ones in 'command' or at least the one that acts as a signal booster for the other droids to receive orders, I made those my targets. Take out one on the ground floor, standing on the force-fields to space below and another standing on the catwalks above. _Bring them down, bring them down._

 _I need to get to safety._ A jolt of adrenaline shot through me and I ducked beneath the large crate I had been using as cover, opening it and, seeing it empty, I crawled inside and shut the door. No sooner than I did that did the whole crate rock and it was sent flying forwards. Backwards. Someway. I was on my back and with a groan of irritation, I stood up and shoved the door open.

Oh. Well.

I made it to safety, barely, but two other members of my platoon, Bargens and Myers were completely vaporized by the final shots from one of the vulture's blaster cannons.

That sucks. That sucks all of space.

We weren't close by any means but…still. It sucks. I hopped out of the crate and took more shots at the droids.

Slowly, the shooting petered out. I looked out from cover and saw that, yes. The droids were scrap metal. We had scourged them from the ship, now all that remained was to seize the asteroid base.

"Boarders repelled, troopers," Dallus told all of us and we let out a victory shout.

"You did good, Candidate," Brigand told me.

"Thank you, sir."

"Orders from the High Colonel," Dallus barked. "Look alive – all squads are to board the remaining troop transports. Master Sergeant, you're to collect the candidates and begin efforts to account for the damage to the ship."

"Yes sir," Brigand replied with a salute. "Come on, Candidate, let's go get Orton and get you out of that armor and into your normal uniform."

"Yes sir." _Finally._ "Thank you, sir."

* * *

Not going to say my first outing as a Storm Trooper wasn't fun, it was, but…that armor wasn't meant for me. I had a different body type and it _smelled_. I don't think the Private who owned the armor was too strong on hygiene. Blegh.

After I got out of that thing, I had donned a fresh uniform and met up with Brigand and Tori down at the entrance to the Armory. Brigand was out of his armor and in his Quartermaster Uniform. "Officer Candidate Plite reporting as ordered."

"Welcome back Candidate," Brigand said.

"Plite." Tori gave me a welcoming nod and was it just me or was she a little pink? "I'm glad to see that you made it back in one piece."

"Thank you, Orton." I nodded back to her in turn.

"Alright, cut the chatter," Brigand ordered off hand. "We were able to check the armory already – we lost everything inside. So, we're moving on to the droid maintenance bays and storage rooms in this block before we move head to block nine."

"Sir? What about blocks four through eight?" I asked.

"There's other crews already working on those areas already," Brigand responded. "Besides, we're just logging the damage for a credit estimate of repair, not actually fixing everything."

"Yes sir," I nodded. "Thank you, sir."

A beeping came from Brigand's belt and he pulled out his comm unit. I had mine fit snugly on my belt. "Master Sergeant Brigand."

"Master Sergeant, this is High Colonel Zipir," the words of the commanding officer of our entire Legion came through. "I called to inform you that the Asteroid has jumped to hyperspace with your platoon on it. They were getting close to the bridge, so the _Highlander_ will wait for one hour to see if they return. If not, I'm afraid we must consider them KIA and we will jump back to Kuat for repairs."

"Yes sir," Brigand replied crisply. "I understand sir."

"Zipir out."

 _Kriffing Force-eating Mynocks._

* * *

 _Author's Notes: Well, this is the end of the Highlander story. A little interesting with the fake out, thinking that Jet was going off to save the day when his plan had already been shot in the water. It's interesting because if he hadn't moved to take the security station, the droids might've used it to take out the entire platoon. And then Jet was able to tag along anyway because Dallus decided to gamble with bringing on a better shot once the option became available._

 _Also, I do apologize for taking so long to get this out – a lot of my effort has gone toward the rewrite of SHINOBI: The RPG, where I started over just before Daisuke's chunin exams. Some of you may have seen it, and been confused but it is a rewrite. If you haven't already, go ahead and check it out. I think I'll be able to get back to a weekly schedule, both with this and with Shinobi since things are starting to look up for me, but we'll see._

 _Anyway, a welcome to_ Miu _and to Super-patron_ Tim Collins-Squire, _you're both awesome and I thank you guys for your contribution and for helping me with this. Shout out also goes out too_ Melden V, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba _and_ Hackerham _. You guys are the best and your continued support means the world to me._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	17. Kuat

_The Following is a Fanbased work of fiction. Star Wars is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please support the official release._

* * *

"Preparing for Jump to Lightspeed," The Intercom announced.

 _They aren't back yet_ , I thought with this twisted, uncomfortable feeling forming in the pit of my stomach. _They aren't back yet and we're jumping._

"Sir?" Tori asked, making a few notes on her datapad. "Is our platoon really KIA?"

Brigand snorted derisively. "Listen, Orton. This isn't the first time the platoon's been left for dead, and I doubt it'll be the last."

"This has happened _before_?" I asked disbelievingly. Well, I _believed_ it but it's a new thing to actually hear about something like this in person.

"Afraid so," Brigand replied. "But, we can't afford to wait any longer. The _Highlander_ 's taken serious damage and the repeated Ion bolts have the engineers worried about the ships power core. We might end up dead in space if we don't move now."

"What happened last time?" I asked with a frown.

"Jumping to Lightspeed."

"We were fighting a cell of pirates in the Vergesso Asteroids," Brigand answered, sounding unusually tired. "We got put in a troop transport and sent after their base while the destroyer chased after a Bulwark class Destroyer. We destroyed the base, but lost our transport and we couldn't raise the Highlander on comms. If I hadn't put a ship together from the parts, none of us would be here today."

"Is that how you lost your arm, sir?" I asked with an eye at his mechanical arm.

"No, I already lost my arm," Brigand replied with a sigh. "It's how I lost my _leg_."

"Oh. Well…thank you sir," I said. Normally, you don't call a Sergeant sir. They work for a living and besides, it's just bad, bad manners. However, I'm currently in the only exception that I think exists in the Imperial Military – an officer put under the command of a noncom and I am required to address my superiors as sir. Or ma'am in the appropriate cases. "For the telling the story."

"Don't get sappy on me," Brigand replied. "You've both got work to do, move it."

"Yes sir," We both said at once.

So, I just had my first brush with being a True-blue Storm Trooper. Thoughts? Impressions? Ideas?

It wasn't that bad. I mean, it was dangerous and I easily could've died several times if I wasn't force sensitive, but it wasn't that bad. I stayed behind cover, had armor on, hit my targets and was able to determine that, yes, I can do this thing, that my skill-thieving was working, and that as long as I stay as far away from Darth Vader, Tarkin or the Rebellion proper as I possibly can, I'll be fine. All in all, this was productive. For me.

…why do I get the feeling that the events of today are going to come back to haunt me years down the line? Because I feel like the events of today are going to come back to haunt me years down the line.

Stupid Force with it's stupid narrativium.

"Damage cataloguing completed," I said, handing in my datapad.

"Very good, Plite. Orton," Brigand nodded to us. "Dismissed. Don't get too comfortable, we'll be pulling into Kuat soon and you'll be needed."

"Yes sir," I replied, saluting my CO.

Anyway…you know what just occurred to me? The Jedi Exile (may she rest in peace), her skill-thief technique I've more or less re-discovered? She used the technique and successfully by slaughtering the bad guys she encountered and taking stuff from them. Which means I could leave the Empire at any time and _git gud_ just by carrying on being a rebel.

I don't think I will – again, Mom, Pyrus, Parter now Tori and Brigand. Connections, man. I've got them. Makes me wonder if this is why the Jedi stressed letting them go?

Which then leads me to something that's been bugging me – _what are my plans when I decide to defect?_

It's a given that it's going to happen. Eventually. Maybe they'll shoot a random homeless man in cold blood or something while I'm watching. Whatever. The point is, I have no contacts out of the Empire, no ability to reach the Rebel Alliance (if there even is one yet) no support net for when I turn tail and join the enemy.

So, let's come up with a plan.

I need to contact Bail Organa on Alderaan, but do so in a way that actually gets me into the network I want. I need to do _something_ – charm him? Covertly assure him that I'm good for the Rebellion? Save his adopted daughter?

Or the obvious route of trying to find the guys headhunters and submitting a resume. The difficulty of that task would be greatly reduced if I had any real training in investigating and – you know, the Storm Trooper Corps. has a Law Enforcement division, used primarily to weed out traitors and dissidents from within the ranks of the Empire's armed forces. I wonder how many cross-branch operations there'd be? Maybe more than I expect.

Though that might be a great way to cut my time with the Empire down to a fraction of what it was if I meet a suitably sympathetic rebel because letting them go, if I don't get discovered for that treasonous act, I might get executed for incompetence instead. Not a good way to get out.

Hm…okay, I think the next…I've got how many more years until the Death Star blows up Alderaan? A little less than seven more years. Seven more years until the Death Star blows up. Two of those years will be doing these internships, then the Academy where I become whatever variant of trooper they need, likely a basic one, hopefully a jump trooper though I don't think I have a choice where I go.

Whatever. The point is that I need a solid way into the Rebellion kept open for me before I defect so that things can be relatively painless. Speaking of painless and thinking back on connections, I wonder if Brigand, who clearly has some poor feelings towards the Empire thanks to the previous time they left him behind, would _consider_ defecting with me. At some point, after we've gotten to know each other a bit more, maybe I could encourage the wiggling voice of doubt in the back of his head that I know exists.

Also, I need to consider Tori.

She kissed me and I'd very much like to kiss her back, again…and again. But I don't know anything about her. I don't know her likes, her dislikes, why she joined the corps., how nuanced her opinion on the Empire is, how _negative_ her opinion on the Empire is. I mean, given the past few hours and how we essentially just left our whole platoon (and maybe a few other platoons) to die, I think she might be open to some actual conversation about the Empire's Oppression.

Though I do feel queasy for essentially turning into that poisonous friend for both Tori _and_ Brigand. As it stands, though? It's a pretty good excuse to invite her to dinner once we're on leave.

* * *

"So glad for the opportunity to relax," I said, pulling out Tori's chair for her to sit down in. "Honestly, I was a little worried we'd be kept on for repairs."

"We're only candidates," Tori replied, sitting down and letting me scoot her in. "If we were full-fledged Officers, we'd probably be asked to stay behind but right now we'd just get in the way."

"Hm, point," I said, taking my seat across from her. "You look stunning, by the way."

"Thank you," She said with a smile.

Once we had finished reporting on the damage to the technicians and mechanics coming aboard the Highlander, we were given three days shore leave. Housing had been arranged for both of us at a hotel they used to house visiting Imperial Dignitaries. _The Kuat Resort_ , as it was called, had a restaurant built into it and given that Tori and I had been assigned to the same hotel, I asked her out. Obviously, given her long black dress and makeup, she said yes.

Not entirely sure where she got it, but I'm not going to ask questions; she looked great.

The waiter handed us our menus, told us we could call on him for anything and promptly scurried off to another table where he repeated this exact same refrain with practiced efficiency. I was honestly amused. Tori took one look at the menu and her eyes went wide for some reason.

"So, let's start with the million-credit question," I began, having put down the menu. "Who is Tori Orton?"

"Well," The corners of her mouth turned into a smile. "Hm, let's see…I'm a graduate from the Royal Academy on Coruscant, my fathers a senatorial aide and my mother stays at home. I joined the corps to make a name for myself."

"What kind of name?" I'm going to have to make sure that this entire conversation isn't just me asking one question after another. I like keeping people talking because, well…people like being listened too and to be perfectly honest, if I want to learn about Tori here, I need to listen.

"The famous kind," Tori replied, raising the glass of chav to her lips. I know for a fact that she'd have preferred one of the wines they had available, but we're only seventeen and they don't serve drinks to anyone younger than twenty-one. "I want my name heard from the core worlds to the outer rim, I want the upper echelons' of the Imperial military to discuss my accomplishments in awe and for the Emperor to speak of me regularly."

"Ambitious," I said, lifting my own glass to my mouth.

"Have you decided what you would like?" The waiter came back looking at us with a pleasant smile.

We both placed our orders – I asked for a rare Gundark Steak, she asked for Corellian Spice Loaf garnished with Revwien leaves. He hurried off again.

"So, have the past twenty-four changed anything?" I asked, setting my glass down.

She hummed for a moment, taking a sip before shaking her head. "No, not really. How about you? Why'd you join the corps?"

To be trained in warfare so I can be of use to the rebellion. Also, I want to see the galaxy. "I wanted to get out, travel to worlds I never imagined could exist and put as many parsecs between me and Coruscant as I possibly could."

"What's wrong with Coruscant?" Tori asked with a frown.

"Nothing exactly," I answered, obviously not going to mention 'the Emperor is _right there_ ' as my reason for not liking to be there. "It's a beautiful planet, it's got lovely sunsets…I just, uh…hm. I just wanted something new is all. Seeing nothing but skyscrapers all my life got sort of dull."

"I can see that," Tori nodded, putting a finger on her lips in thought.

"So, you're obviously planning to be a Moff someday," I stated, leaning forward and putting my elbows on the table.

"Yes, actually," Tori nodded, leaning in closer to match. "I serve in combat positions for five or so years then be promoted out of them for exemplary service and then I'm on the way to being a Moff – ruler of a sector. Sounds quite nice, actually."

Ambitious, power and glory hungry. I mean, it's definitely alluring in its own way but these traits meant that it was highly unlikely she'd come with me when I defected which means this relationship is already on the way out. Shame. Let's not ruin the date, though.

"Grand Moff Orton," I said, miming placing the words in the air. "It's got a nice ring to it."

"Oh, stop it," Tori giggled, batting her hand like she was slapping a hand away.

"Here you are," The waiter returned, placing our meals in front of us and refilling our drinks. "Enjoy."

"Thank you," I gave a smile and a nod to the waiter.

"You're most welcome," The Waiter beamed at me.

Tori narrowed her eyes at me and the waiter, saying nothing. Interesting – in the bad way.

"So, if I may, Jet," Tori began, slowly and carefully cutting into her Spice Loaf. "I wanted to ask…why did you pursue that crazy plan?"

"What crazy plan?" I asked before biting that succulent steak off the fork and into my mouth. _Delicious_.

"You know the plan," Tori replied deadpan before taking a bite. She chewed for a bit and swallowed before continuing. She looked around and when she determined no one was listening, she elaborated on her question. "The one where we were going to sneak into the hangar and destroy the ion cannon ourselves?"

"I'm more curious as to why you agreed to follow me?" I poked back good naturedly.

"I…" She began, looking down at the loaf. "I thought it might've actually succeeded. Fame and glory, you know? You seemed to know what you were doing, so…"

"Fair enough," I replied.

"But that doesn't answer my question," Tori continued, looking up. "Are you stalling?"

I nodded because I was still chewing.

"Why?" Tori frowned.

"Because the explanation sounds stupid," I explained, touching the corner of my mouth with a napkin.

"Try me," Tori looked unamused.

"Well, this is just between us, alright?" I asked, taking a sip of my drink. "But I get these…feelings from time to time. Feelings like 'you should be over here in a few minutes' or 'you should be ducking about now' or my personal favorite, 'you are dead unless you dive into that crate _right now_ '. Stuff like that."

"I did notice that," Tori muttered looking around. "So, you just have a strong intuition?"

"Is that what that is?" I asked, with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," Tori nodded. "I get feelings like that some times. Not quite as strong as yours, I guess, but they happen."

I hummed. "Good to know."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. This steak was _good_ , too, I loved the way the flavors just melting in my mouth and I'm _so_ glad I was able to ditch my habit of just _inhaling_ my food as fast as possible. I can actually _enjoy_ it now.

"So, how's the steak?" Tori asked with a smirk.

"Delicious," I replied, finishing sawing a smaller piece off than I wanted to try. I held it up on my fork. "You want to try it?"

"Hm…alright," Tori leaned forward and I carefully slid the piece into her mouth on the fork. She chewed for a minute and her face lit up. "That is _good_."

"Isn't it though?" I asked with a smile. Wait, aren't I trying to find a way to graciously shut this date down? This is the _opposite_ of what I should be trying to do right now. "How's the spice loaf?"

"You want to try?" She asked with her head tilted, her eyebrow raised slightly.

I raised my fork in response and she nodded.

Spiceloaf was very much like meatloaf in that it's taste was entirely determined by the talent of the chef preparing it in my own experience. This Spiceloaf? Pretty darn good. I gave a grunt of appreciation followed by the universal signal for OK.

"Try it with the Revwien," She suggested, scooping a leaf off of her plate and offering it to me.

Well, alright. I bit the leaf off and…huh. That actually made the taste _much_ better.

"You like it?" She asked with a smile.

I nodded.

"My mother suggested the recipe the last time we visited Kuat," Tori replied happily. "I was surprised they actually incorporated it into the menu."

"Really?" I asked after swallowing the mouthful and she nodded enthusiastically. "She cooks?"

"No," Tori shook her head. "We have droids. But she _did_ come up with the recipe."

"Oh. So, have you travelled a lot then?" I asked with an interested smile.

"Just here and Corellia," Tori shrugged. "No where spectacular or amazing, like you might want."

"That's okay," I shrugged. "Travel is travel, I suppose."

She half-way nodded. "…by the way, you are the first person I've ever seen to actually thank a waiter for simply doing his job."

I am not surprised by that in the slightest. "Something wrong?"

"Not really, no," She shook her head. "I was just wondering why. After all, you're an officer in the Imperial Storm Troopers – they should be grateful you're even gracing them with your presence with how much they'll owe you for protecting them and theirs."

I do not want to start lecturing. Not in the middle of a date. But…this might be my opportunity to turn things around for her? Let's not do that cheesy line I fed Pyrus about protecting the people of the Empire, I doubt she'll bite. "So, before I answer that question, may I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead," Tori nodded with a slight frown.

"Well, what _is_ the Empire?" I asked her simply.

She resisted rolling her eyes. Perhaps that was the wrong question? "Oh, I don't know…the Emperor. Obviously."

"And?" I pressed.

"And Lord Vader and the Military?" She seemed somewhat confused.

"And?" I pressed once more.

She sighed. "I don't know."

"The Empire is its people. The Emperor, Lord Vader, the Military and everyone else that falls within it's protection," I began falling into my ultra-serious demeanor which I have repeatedly used to great success in my old life. "The citizenry of the Empire farms the food, make the credits and look to the Emperor and his Moff's for guidance. That food goes to feed us, the credits go to pay us and in turn, we protect them from every threat we can. Emperor Palpatine wouldn't have an evening meal if the citizens didn't farm the food and wouldn't have a government if he didn't have the taxes needed to sustain it."

She was listening intently, her eyes focused, her chip cupped by her fingers.

"Standard mode of Imperial Operations is the Tarkin Doctrine," I added, preparing to add the qualifiers needed to make what I'm about to say more digestible. "It works, we've seen it work, it's good. But in my own personal experience, you get more out of friends. They're more loyal, less likely to crack under pressure, willing to do more for you, you know. Friend stuff. You were willing to go along with a plan I had cooked up in about five minutes because you trusted me, right?"

"I _do_ trust you, yes," She replied with a nod. "What does this have to do with thanking the waiter?"

"I'm getting to it, I know this is long winded," I replied with a smile growing on my face before I schooled it. "The thing that makes all of this have to do with thanking the waiter is _reputation_. By being nice to the guy, I'm helping the reputation of the Storm Trooper corps. by helping solidify, in his mind, that we're protectors of the Empire – of which he's a part of. Tell me, would you trust a group of people if they had a reputation of turning on everyone the moment it becomes in their immediate interest to do so, even if later down the line it'll harm them?"

Tori blinked, then let out a breath. "The military does have that reputation, doesn't it?"

"You saw how fast Zipir and the Captain of the Line…whatever he name was," I continued. "Abandoned our platoon. It's not even the first time it happened. The first time, they only waited five minutes."

Tori let out a breath. "So, you say thanks to the waiter to improve the reputation of the military?"

"That and I like it when a job is done well," I replied scratching the back of my head. "The first reason is mostly so people who point to the Tarkin Doctrine have a hard, crunchy, satisfying answer and they won't think I'm an idiot."

"Well, I mean, it sounds well-reasoned," Tori said, drawing a circle on the table with her finger. "But you're arguing against the finest Moff in History."

"I mean, I'm not going to disobey orders or anything." Yes, I will. "But I do think an organization works better when everyone gets along pleasantly instead of being brought under compulsion. But that's just me."

"That might not always be possible," Tori said, mostly to herself.

"Then again, I'm not ever going to be a Moff," I said, cutting another piece of steak off for myself. "Too nice. You, on the other hand, are. So, when you've gotten to the top, you can tell me what's worked in your experience, right?"

"I suppose I'll have too, won't I?" She said, looking up at me with a smile.

I think I might have done it. I didn't turn everything around, obviously, this was just one talk but…I've gotten her thinking, at the very least.

Wait, did the music just get louder. I looked to the left and…ah. The Restaurant has a dance floor. People, older couples, younger couples, tourists, troops on leave, started to file onto the floor and separate while the _Master of Ceremonies_ played orchestra music.

The most surprising thing about Senior Track? It had a mandatory _dance class_. To help the Officers maneuver the political environments of the Empire. I was about done with my steak anyway, and Tori was about done with her Spiceloaf, so I stood up and offered her my hand. "Honor me with a dance?"

She smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

I walked her back to her room, it being six stories above me own. We were both rather sweaty and tired from rocking the dance floor. Tori had this huge smile on her face and I was smiling too. I had a great time, no lie. I was a little afraid my lecture would've turned the whole date off, which is concerning because I think I wanted that, but that did not seem to be the case.

We came to her room and she turned to me. "Thank you so much, I had a great time."

"Same, same," I replied with a nod, before I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She hurriedly grabbed my arms and put them around her waist and I was on fire.

After some time had passed, I broke it off…got to leave her wanting more, after all. Her face was red and her lips rather puffy and she was looking at me with sultry eyes. "Good night, Tori."

"Good night Jet," She said and she opened her rooms door.

I turned around and just before the doors to the lift opened, I turned around and saw that she was still looking at me. She waved goodbye with just a gentle motion of her fingers. I gave her a smile. The lift behind me opened and I walked backwards into it. As the doors closed, I placed my hand on my chest and gave her a deep nod, symbolizing a bow.

Yeah, I think I quite like her. And before anyone asks, no. I'm not combining the ages of my two lives, that way just leads to misery and I'm mostly over the old life. Mostly.

…I wish I could introduce her to my parents…

* * *

 _Author's Note: The flu's cleared up for the most part, so I was able to get this chapter out. I think it mostly went well. The only snag I think is Jet's lecture, which wouldn't have happened if he wasn't trying to see if he could turn Tori. He gave her something to think about, at least. Any feedback regarding the date would be appreciated._

 _Shout out goes out to Chris, our newest Patron. Thanks for coming aboard, man. You're awesome._

 _Shout out also goes out to_ Melden V, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba, Hackerham and Tim Collins-Squire. _You guys are the best and your continued support means the world to me._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_

 _P.S:_ _ _Merry Christmas all! Or Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or whichever holiday you choose to celebrate!__


	18. Planetside

_The Following is a Fan-based work of fiction. Star Wars is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please support the official release._

* * *

From the planets surface, you could see the ring of _Kuat Drive Yards_ circling overhead in the sky. Honestly, I think that seeing the Drive Yards orbiting the planet might have been the coolest thing ever for me.

Seeing as I had only two more days of leave and this being my first time being off world, I decided to take a shuttle down to Kuat's surface to see the sights. It was fairly close to Earth with the green grass, trees and blue sky. Well, it was close to the forested, mountainous Midwest that I had called home previously, but I digress.

I found myself amused by the fact that it's capital city was called 'Kuat City'. I suppose it says something about the engineer-esque views of the people on this world; brilliant builders with lots of resources, terrible with names – almost entirely because they don't care at all.

The city itself reminded me of San Jose, California for the brief time I spent there, the only difference was that the buildings were taller. But the streets were packed with riff-raff, the galaxy's castoffs, as well as hopeful students of a nearby technical school, successful businessmen, also known as the galaxy's future. Seeing such a contrast between people honestly…excited me. Not that I was happy to see people downtrodden and subject to misfortune nor was I necessarily happy to see the gap between rich and poor get wider, but rather because I see that they can get through the misfortune and overcome their own poor circumstances through wise choices.

Basically, I was happy to see that the gap was traversable – difficult, though that might be. If the only people who were wealthy were part of the political class _then_ I'd be more worried for people's future. Given who's at the top, though, I wouldn't hold my breath that things will remain stable.

I think my favorite part was seeing food-stands again. I love those. Sure, the food was greasy and may end up not going down too easily, but it was delicious and most importantly _new_. After surviving off of nothing besides Imperial cooking on Coruscant for almost my entire life, I was ready for the sub-sandwich/bratwurst/hotdog combo that I just finished, it's sweet, succulent, spiced flavor was going to stick with me until sometime mid-tomorrow when I'm craving another one.

Day's been pretty good. To top it off, Imperial Regulation actually allows me to purchase souvenirs. So long as they've been properly purchased, have never been or conceivably will be a part of a weapon and they are kept in your _trunk_ during flight hours aboard the Star Destroyer, you can bring whatever you want with you. So, I'm going to look for something. Something to cap off what a nutty internship it's been so far.

Something awesome. I wonder if maybe there's something that I can sense through the force? Something significant enough that it's on Kuat at this time right after I just survived my first battle where things were truly serious and I can get a hold of it.

Eh, I doubt it, but I'm going to check anyway.

I stepped into an alleyway, out of sight of the general population – I'd need to be able to really concentrate and while I can think through the din of the city, I can't think while I'm thinking there's someone going to see what I'm doing and wonder what, exactly, I'm doing. But in a shady alley, leaning against a building? That's fine. No one's going to see me unless they are looking for me. Let's see…

Anything?

Anything at all?

The city is loud, and it's large. I'm not accustomed to stretching out over an area like this – in fact, it went against everything I knew how to do. I'm used to shrinking down, down, until I fit into the cracks, too small to even see that there's something inside. There were hundreds upon hundreds of people, most human, some not, each completely involved in their own thoughts. Most were thinking of themselves, some were thinking of others, but it was all a large cacophony of voices in the force.

I tried my best to distance myself from the people, but it was hard. I had never really _done_ this before. I confess, I was only doing the opposite of what I had done for so many years to hide from the Emperor's gaze so I didn't get dragged into his accursed Inquisitor Program. But finally, I'm not sure how, but I managed to feel something. Something just barely poking over the din of sound that was Kuat city like a beacon, responding to my gaze.

After I brought myself back to myself, my head started to swim and my vision became blurry. A dull headache set in and I held my head in an attempt to soothe it away. Take a breath, inward, outward. Steady.

…am I going to have to do that on the regular some day? Probably. I should find some time to practice that at some point so it's not so overwhelming.

Let's get moving. Whatever that was, it was probably _big_. Something that may not actually be worth the trouble of picking up but I'm going to go see it anyway because I've already gone through all this trouble.

I moved through the alleyway, walking at a brisk pace. Following the trail I had set for myself, I found myself at the gates to a flea-market in the poorer area of the city. I dug into my wallets to pay the entry fee, but the gate was opened before I could even pull my wallet out. In the gate-control office, a Rodian politely waved me in – he had seen that I was Imperial. I tipped my hat to the guy and walked inside.

Merchants were hawking their wears to every passerby. Some of it looked like something I could get in any supermarket, others looked interesting, but I was here for a specific reason and my curiosity demanded to be sated.

Move around the crowds, give those that get out of my way a grateful nod and smile, be pleasant do _not_ be one of those Imperial's the frightens everyone around them to get their way. Eventually, I sensed the flare I had seen nearby.

My search had lead me to a shop which dealt primarily in trinkets and, appropriately, souvenirs. There were three tables set up making three-quarters of a square outside of a tent. Model ships, hologlobes, antique blasters that had purposely been sabotaged as to be un-fixable…is what I think it is?

There is no way that is what I think it is.

The source of the flare, I had found, was a square crystal with an electrum framing keeping it safe.

I reached out for it with the force and felt it _resonate_ back and my eyes got uncontrollably wide before I resumed my stone-faced mask.

That is a Jedi Holocron.

And I _want_ it.

He might not know what it is and for my sake, I can't exactly let on that I know what it is.

I waited for the old man, hunched over, his skin tanned from long hours in Kuat's sun, to finish with his current customer. I hefted the Holocron in my hand, looking unconcerned. "Hey, how much for the desk ornament?"

He turned around and his eyes got wide for a second in an almost panic before he turned on the sleazy business man routine. "Oh, Mr. Imperial-Officer, sir! How are you doing on this fine day?"

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," I said with a grin. Yeah, he knows _exactly_ what this is. "I just want to purchase this thing to decorate my desk on the Star Destroyer."

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily call it a desk ornament," He said with a nervous smile. "It's an old republic artifact, made from the rarest of crystals from Illum and is very, very valuable. I'll accept no less than two hundred and fifty credits."

I blinked, perplexed. There is no way he's that attached to it as just a trader. I don't think he's a Jedi either…he just wants as many credits for it as possible. That's what he's attached too. Credits. "Yeah but the Republic is dead now. I'll give you twenty-five credits."

Not paying 250 credits for it…because I can only afford 153 at the most expensive. I've got a budget to keep to, for the force's sake.

"Twenty-five?" He repeated with a gasp. "But this is a priceless artifact! Crystals from Illum haven't been seen since the Rise of the glorious Empire. I can't part for it for any less than 250."

I shrugged. "It's a fancy slate-weight. I mean, sure, it looks nice but the only thing it's going to do is decorate my desk. Now, if it were a ring or something for my girlfriend, that'd be a different story. But I'm not paying 250 for something that's only there to look nice. 25."

"Oh, I see," He changed his tactic. "You are a very discerning customer. What branch of service are you in, Mr…?"

"Stormtroopers," I replied with a nod. "And my name is Plite. What's yours?"

"Aren," He replied smoothly. "Well, I'm always willing to help out the Imperial Military. This is a priceless artifact, but for you? I can let it go for 200 credits. What do you say?"

"That's definitely better," I said with a nod. "But Aren, clearly, you've been in this game a long time. I can't imagine that a shrewd business man like yourself got this for anything more than 50 credits. Since I don't think you want to break even, I'll up my offer to 60 credits."

Aren blinked. "But sir, I didn't get this for a mere 50 credits, but for 150 credits."

He's _lying_. "Really, well. 60 credits is still the price I'm willing to pay for it."

"Come now," The man said with a frown, looking over my face for the slightest bit of empathy or impatience for bartering and finding none. "You've been many places throughout the galaxy, yes? As a storm trooper, you've undoubtedly seen the ends of the galaxy and yet you clearly want this bauble here. Clearly you recognize it's worth."

"I think it looks nice, yes," I nodded.

"Since I hold the Imperial Military in the highest regard, I'll grant you an even better deal," Aren continued. "175 credits, a _steal_ for this."

He's right, technically. A Jedi Holocron outside of the Emperor's treasury? This thing's worth _millions_. With that in mind, he clearly doesn't know what it is, because he would've sold if off to the Hutt's or turned it into the Empire for the large cash-in if he did. But he does know it's valuable. "You're right, I do recognize its value. It looks pretty. A good conversation starter, something nice to look at while I'm filing paperwork for the Moff or some-such. Since you've pointed out that yes, I do recognize its value, and it does have value, I'll bump up my offer to 100 credits. I don't think I can go any higher and, at least, you'll make some of your money back."

150 credits. That's the magic number. I won't be able to afford anything special or extravagant until the next paycheck comes in, but this'll be well worth it. Trying to figure out how to open the thing and access it's secrets will be a great use of my time and a good way to practice with the force.

"I…" He glared for a second into my eyes. "Ahahaha…I see. I get you, you won't back down. But you see, you're mistaken. I'm perfectly willing to break even in the case of such a distinguished customer like yourself. 150 credits, no less."

 _Finally_. I cupped my chin, turning my head to think. I didn't want him to think he'd won just yet, I needed him to stir in case he had any thoughts of changing his mind. "Alright, fine. 150 it is. But I still think you got robbed by whoever you got this from."

"I'm easily taken advantage of," Aren replied, taking my credits and handing me the Holocron. He had quite a bit of pride in himself, without any sense of having lost anything. "As a merchant, it's my curse."

"A horrible curse to be sure," I replied, sliding the Holocron into my belt. "A pleasure doing business with you, Aren."

I had three credits left to spend. I mean, I had cash put away for savings and food for later, but spending credits? Just three. I'll probably get a candy bar or something before I head back up to the Drive Yards Hotel.

* * *

First things first, figure out how to hide this thing. There is no way I'm actually taking this thing onto a Star Destroyer with me, the risk of the Destroyer playing host to an Inquisitor or even Vader himself is too great – they'd lock onto it like I did and I'd be up the creek.

So, how to hide it? I don't want it on Coruscant and that's where my housing assignment is until I actually get my Storm Trooper commission. I might not have a choice, however and that's a giant problem. At the very least, I live on another hemisphere from the Emperor entirely.

At the very least, though, I should see if what's on this thing is even worth the trouble. For all I know, it's just a message from Obi-wan Kenobi telling everyone to stay away from the Jedi Temple and that is _not_ worth keeping around for any reason.

How do I open this thing?

Uh…let's see…

I was in my hotel room, the door locked. On my bed in a lotus position, I held the Holocron in my hands, feeling the pulse of its life beginning to warm my hands and making the nerves of my fingers tingle. I focused on it, only in part but gradually it became the only thing as the other concerns at the edge of my mind gradually faded away.

There were mechanisms on the inside, unreachable except through the force. The Holocron itself, as I reached out for these with my feelings almost seemed like it was…helping me? Helping me connect with these locks and I focused on moving them, it's warming presence like a beacon and instruction manual both at once.

Slowly. Push and pull. I've got experience doing this, it's just been a while. I haven't moved anything since that fiasco with the cans. Focus. Remain calm. Focus. Connect with the Holocron and…

I opened my eyes and saw that the Holocron had opened, the pieces floating with the force and an image appeared over the Holocron and I felt what it was trying to tell me through the force. The image was of…is that Nick Gillard? No…Cin Drallig, the character based on the Prequal Trilogy's stunt coordinator.

"Hello, student. I am Cin Drallig, the head lightsaber instructor of the Jedi Order," He began and this huge grin started breaking out over my face. "In this Holocron, I have recorded everything I've ever learned about lightsaber form 6, or the Diplomat's Form, as well as thoughts and lessons from masters of the form throughout the history of the Jedi Order. With this Holocron, I hope it will enable you to learn everything there is to know about the Way of the Rancor, and help bring students to mastery of this this, the most difficult form known to the Jedi."

Niman. The form without any weaknesses, easy to learn and get a grip on but can take a jedi well over ten years to master. This form stuck out in my mind as the form that Exar Kun chose this as his fighting style and if my memory is correct, he never lost a duel. Not once.

And this Holocron, which is teaching me both through a lesson and images that I have left on pause for now, but also through the force – the same way I've been learning everything for the past four or five years. Holocron's taught through the force. How awesome is that?

The Holocron helped me shut it off and I gingerly placed it in front of me, regarding it as the sacred object that it was. I could already hear _Binary Sunset_ sounding off in the back of my head, enough to bring a tear to my eye.

…I need a lightsaber. More than that, I need to know when the Alliance to Restore the Republic is going to be formally organized. Sometime before A New Hope definitely. But how many years before hand? Did the show 'Rebels' have anything to do with it? Probably, with Disney's new canon. But I don't remember what planets they were around, I never watched the show.

But before all of that, I need a place to hide this where it won't get seen or felt. If only I had a Terentatek hide, that'd make this easy – just wrap the Holocron up and even I wouldn't be able to sense this. Ship it to Tatooine so Obi-Wan will keep it safe? Nah, I don't want to bring attention to him because the Empire saw this weird package go out to Tatooine for no reason.

 _A Jedi uses the Force for Knowledge and Defense_ …

So…perhaps I should meditate on my conundrum and the Force will provide an answer? Maybe. I mean, why not? It's already brought me this far. Just…ask. Meditate. Close my eyes…think…ponder…steer clear from those two large patches of black miasma in the force…there.

It is unlikely that Inquisitor's of any kind will be assigned to The Highlander once it's repairs are completed – it's only slated for Wargames and while the battle station we encountered is of concern, it's a concern solely for the Imperial Military until we know for sure that a force user was involved and there was none involved. I should mostly be safe from the Inquisitors until my internship on The Highlander is over and by then, I should be able to hide the Holocron in my home and ship it from one place to another without much incident until I'm suspected of harboring traitorous instincts.

The Holocron, for now, is safest with me.

I took a breath, sunk back into the cracks of the universe, where I could not sense anything.

…yeah, poking my head out of the sand occasionally is fun.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: This is a scene I've been wanting to do for a while, give Jet a bone for if or when he defects and wants to become a Jedi (because who wouldn't?). He has some actual resources now beyond Yoda and Obi-Wan who may or may not be interested in actually training him._

 _As for what's next, I'm not sure I've got much in the way of plot for Jet and the Highlander. I've done most everything I've been wanting to do here and I don't have any more ideas that don't return the story to a lull. Maybe a snippet here and there to keep everyone up to speed as Jet finish's his internship aboard the Highlander and then we move on to his_ next _internship which, well. I'll leave that one to everyone's imagination._

 _Shout out goes out too_ Melden V, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba, Hackerham _and_ Tim Collins-Squire _your continued support means the world to me._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	19. On Leave

_The Following is a Fan-based work of fiction. Star Wars is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please support the official release._

* * *

"The repairs are going to take a while," Tori told me, gesturing out to the Highlander. "The pods put so many holes in the ship that the first and second deck might've come off from the main body if they took any more hits."

"But our leave ends tomorrow still, right?" I asked with a frown.

"Yes, unfortunately," Tori replied with a sigh. "The 357th is probably going to be re-staffed and reassigned to another Destroyer while the Highlander is getting repaired, so yes. Our break ends tomorrow."

We were standing on one of the Drive Yards observation decks overlooking the Highlander, a waist-high handrail was all that prevented someone from simply dropping off the face out of the Drive Yards and into the abyss of space below. I think it said something for how damaged she ship was when bits of durasteel were still drifting off of the hull when we pulled into the port.

"Shame, I was almost relaxed," I said with a sigh. "You think we'll get commendations for our performance during the raid?"

"We'd best," Tori replied, squinting out at the Star Destroyer. "Without us at the security room, we would've lost the platoon before you could've taken the Hangar. Giving them those eyes in the halls really turned the tables."

"I agree," I nodded.

We stood there on the catwalk, falling into silence after that. Not much to say. It was almost soothing, in a way, watching repairs on the destroyer take place, watching bits and pieces get reattached or replaced altogether.

"I've been thinking," Tori started, leaning against the railing. "About our date."

"I had fun," I said with a smile.

"I did too," She smiled. "But I was thinking about what you said. About trying to improve the Empire's reputation. You think being…benevolent will help improve the functionality of the Empire as a whole because the citizenry will be more motivated by kindness instead of fear."

"That's correct," I replied with a nod.

"I can see it, I suppose," Tori shrugged. "But what I kept coming back to is the Tarkin Doctrine and why it was created."

"Which is?"

"Rebels, Insurgents," Tori elaborated, moving her hand in a circle. "Pirates, criminals, all people who would absolutely resent any form of increased authority and wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of a benevolent and trusting empire. It's why the Republic couldn't stop the Hutt's or anyone from simply taking control of the Outer Rim."

…she had a point and as far as I know, I've got no proof that the Empire works _with_ those criminal elements as much as shackling them.

"As such, they need to be afraid of the Empire and the penalties for breaking its laws," Tori summed up, putting her arms behind her back. "So, while I see the need for law abiding citizens to love the Emperor…it needs to be scary. For the people's protection."

Alright. Take a deep breath, I hadn't thought about it before, I just took this for granted.

"The reason the Republic couldn't stop the Hutts from taking the outer rim is because they weren't really focused on military might," I said, taking a minute to think out the rest of my response. I almost said 'not because their doctrine was weak' but _that_ would not have gone over well; the Empire as a whole did not have a good opinion of the Republic. "Until they had the clone army, they didn't even have a standing military really – just a small peace-keeping force. I'd wager that most attempts to expand their budget or manpower were stopped by the senate."

"I suppose," Tori shook her head in a non-committal way. "The senate's still a terrible bottleneck, but it's not as bad as it was. I'm very glad that the Moff's and the Emperor became checks and balances against them."

That was technically true. There's a lot of bad things about the Empire, but it _definitely_ got more done in the past fourteen years than the Republic did in fifty. More than half of the things it did were _positive_ , too! I mean, it doesn't outweigh the atrocities the Empire commits regularly but still. "Same, actually. But because of that bottleneck, the republic's military couldn't grow to the point where they wouldn't have needed the clones during the war and they weren't that good at enforcing their own laws, so I don't think we can fairly judge the merits of their doctrine because they weren't staffed properly."

You know, I imagined something called 'The Clone Wars' would be a series of wars using clones. But it's just one war. One clone war. It's kind of misleading when you think about it.

"I suppose," She replied. "But that's not an argument against the Tarkin Doctrine, just an argument for the Republic."

"True," I nodded. "So as for the fear doctrine, I was one question – what do you do to things that scare you?"

"…I don't follow," Tori said.

"Well, personally, I like to shoot things that scare me," I said with a shrug. "I'm a pretty good shot, I'd like to think, so when something scares me, I shoot it. You?"

"Errr…" She blinked. "I do the same. I guess."

"So, here's why I ask," I began. "The Hutt's, the Pirates…they're scared of us anyway. We want to shoot them and put them in prison for doing the things that they do. Nothing's going the change that. The thing is with the Tarkin Doctrine is that it encourages law abiding citizens, human or otherwise to be afraid of us. Most would recognize that it's a lost cause, but some? Well, they're crazy enough to try as we both know."

"You're actually saying that the Tarkin Doctrine _incites_ rebellion?" Tori blinked. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Not kidding," I said with a frown. "If a person feels endangered by a government, they don't feel like they have a choice. It takes a level of…stupidity to take on a fight like that, but it happens. I've heard of insurgents on Onderon, Lothal, Balmorra. Maybe you've heard of more?"

Rebel Cells. _Just_ cells. I don't know if they're part of the full-on Rebel Alliance and I don't think I'll be able to find out without blowing my cover. Also, Lothal feels important for some reason. If I get assigned there, I'm going to run into some things I think I would rather not mess with, I feel like.

She looked off to the side, then rubbed the back of her head. "I've heard of something on Anoat. But their rebellion is why the Tarkin Doctrine was put in place, remember?"

"Aspects of the Tarkin Doctrine were already in place before then as part of the Emperor's Martial Law in the early days of the Empire," I replied. "To deal with the separatist remnants, of course, but when honest Imperial citizens get caught in the crossfire-?"

"Let's…let's not talk about this anymore," Tori said, placing her hands up, wearing an uncomfortable frown. "I don't want either of us to get in trouble."

"Alright," I shrugged. I suppose that's as good as I'm going to get. She's second guessing things and that'll go a long way into the future as events further unfold. "So, there's a performance at the theatre of Squid Lake tonight. You want to go? It'll be fun."

"…I'd love too, but I've got some things to do tonight before our leave is over," Tori replied with a sigh. "Sorry. Perhaps some other time after our internship?"

Welp. Friendzoned. Ah well, guess she decided that I was a danger to her career. A shame. Perhaps it's for the best though the pang in my chest would like to disagree.

* * *

"I want you both to understand that you both performed beyond admirably," High Colonel Zipir, if he stood sideways and stuck out his tongue, looked like a zipper. He was tall and rail thin, but he still cut an imposing presence, sitting on his side of the desk in his office. Tori and I were sitting on the other side. "You both showed initiative, bravery and skill befitting Officer's in the His Majesty's Storm Trooper corps. As far as I am concerned, you have both earned your commissions and have a very bright future in the corps ahead of you."

"Thank you, sir," Tori beamed.

"I'm telling you this because neither of you are getting any credit for your efforts in the attack whatsoever," Zipir continued. "All reports of the Incident are going through me and I'm excising your names from the report I'm giving to Moff Teran."

Tori looked flustered, furious and close to tears. Well, beneath the stone mask of Imperial Discipline that she put on.

"May I ask why?" I had an idea of why, but I wanted to hear it from him.

"This does not leave the room. I am only telling you because you have both earned some trust," Zipir said, clearing his throat. "This attack was an inside job, and has the fingerprints of a Moff all over it."

Tori let out a breath.

"The traitor in our midst was High Colonel Ettan, the commanding officer of the Army detachment aboard The Highlander," Zipir explained. "He was attempting to defect from the Empire. He and his fellow conspirators, after sabotaging us _severely_ , took the escape pods when we emerged from Hyperspace. The droids promptly shot the pods down, leaving no trace. This means he was not the head of the operation and a Moff would be able to place him aboard a ship. My suspect is Moff Zeran because Captain of the Line Eitle and I have both had unpleasant encounters with him but our executions would've been unlawful."

He stopped to take a drink of water. Tori had gotten pale.

"By omitting your names from the reports, I'm keeping you both safe from the Moff's swift and unholy retribution," Zipir finished explaining. "Do you both understand."

"Yes sir," We both said.

"Thank you, sir," Tori added.

"Candidate Plite, you seem remarkably calm," Zipir said, looking at me with a thoughtful frown.

"I figured the situation was something like this, sir," I explained with a shrug. "It felt like an inside job, sir."

"Hm. You're smart, Candidate," Zipir nodded in approval. "You'll go far. But you don't need to fear – your achievements aren't going to be totally unremarked on."

Tori perked up. "Sir?"

"In one report I'm explaining your instrumental role in preserving the 6th Platoons weapons and armor, and your takeover of the security checkpoint," Zipir explained, taking a breath. "That report is going directly to Lord Vader, who has requested reports from both myself and Eitle regarding the destruction of one of his Star Destroyers."

Right when I thought you were being a bro, Zipir. That's even _worse_.

Tori began beaming again. "Thank you, sir!"

"Thank you, sir," I replied, using my tight emotional control to portray some measure of happiness. Darth _freaking Vader_ was going to have my name, up in lights, in front of him. That is not good at all.

"Brigand and I have discussed it and we agree," Zipir started again. "You know everything we can necessarily teach you already, so your internship ends today, marked with flying colors. You'll be on leave until your next internship, as determined by Corps. You will both be given housing assignments this afternoon should you need them and shuttles will take you there tomorrow morning.

"Thank you, sir," We both said at once. In a way, this was a good thing. Provided Vader didn't show up at my doorstep to whisk me off to Inquisitor training, I now had almost a year of alone time with the Holocron.

"If there's nothing else…Plite, you look a little sickly," Zipir said, looking over me with a critical eye. "Is there something wrong?"

"Just a little nervous, sir, about my name on a report to Vader," I decided it was best to be honest.

Zipir tilted his head. "Very wise of you. The report has already gone out, or I'd omit your name as a favor."

Well, that's just great. At least Zipir is, in fact, a bro.

* * *

Later that evening, I was off duty, sitting in the restaurant with a Mon Calamari Clam Chowder in front of me. It was free of charge, since I was a part of the corps and it was likely the last chance I'd have to eat something fancy like this so I figured why not? It might be my last meal for all I know.

Tori came up in a blue dress that went half-way down her thighs. "Jet, I'm glad I caught you before the night was out."

"Hey Tori," I greeted her with a smile and gestured for her to take a seat. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I just got my housing assignment," She said with a smile. "I was wondering where you were living?"

"Corellia," I just got my assignment delivered to my room not ten minutes ago. If it weren't for the fact that Vader had a report with my name on it, I'd be excited. I've been wanting to see Han Solo and Wedge Antilles birthplace since forever. I'm told the world is gorgeous to boot. "You?"

"Balmorra," She said, holding up the dataslate with her assignment on it. "I'm excited, honestly. Finally, completely free of my parents."

"You and your parents don't get along?" I asked.

"No, no," She shook her head. "They just annoy me is all. No ambition, either of them. Tried to discourage me from joining the Corps, thought it was too dangerous."

"Well…it is dangerous," I replied.

"It is," She nodded. "But I handled it. Well, _we_ handled it."

"That we did," I said with a nod.

"So…can I get your comm frequency?" Tori asked with a raised eyebrow.

I have been un-friendzoned. I think. "Sure. Can I get yours?"

"Definitely," She said and we exchanged frequencies. "Call me when you get to Corellia, alright?"

"Or you can call me when you get to Balmorra," I said with a shrug. "Whichever comes first."

A waiter promptly came to Tori and took her order…she got the steak.

"So," I started. "Why the change of heart?"

"Excuse me?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"After our…discussion, you didn't really want to hang around me," I said with a raised eyebrow of my own. "Now you're wanting my holo-frequency. I don't mean to be rude, even though that's what I'm doing and I apologize, but…I just want to know what changed your mind?"

"I haven't changed my mind on the Tarkin Doctrine," Tori replied firmly. "The galaxy needs a firm, feared hand to keep order. But I realized that you have…reasons for holding your opinions, such as they are and while I don't agree with them…I respect them."

I was actually speechless for a minute. "Thanks, Tori. That actually means a lot to me."

She smiled and leaned forward and…we kissed. Again.

… _Fireworks in my brain…_

* * *

Corellia was _awesome_.

It had freaking space-trains running through the cities, Coronet in particular. I took the train from the spaceport through the city to my assigned apartment. Occasionally, the skyscrapers would part, giving me a glimpse of the mountains and rolling hills beyond the city.

We came to my stop, I got off. The Apartment building stretched into the sky and painted a smile on my face. In I went, my key in hand, to the thirty-second floor to my apartment. It opened right into the living room, a kitchen to the right. Also on the right on the wall was a hall. I walked over there and saw that it branched – on the left was my bedroom, to the right was the restroom. Or 'refresher' in Star Wars-speak.

Why the heck would anyone _leave_ this place?

I don't know.

Anyway, I'm not sure there's anything still left, but I don't know if the Green Jedi enclave still exists…ever existed…I'm not sure which timeline I'm in. Disney, Legends? I thought I was in Legends for a bit since Ryloth is still a bipolar-mess of hot and cold but then I hear about Lothal which I _vaguely_ remember from the Rebels cartoon and I get confused.

Maybe it's some kind of mix? That seems likely.

I'll give Tori a call in a minute, I don't think her shuttle has arrived on Balmorra yet and my comm is _not_ a hypercomm. So I've got some time to settle in…I locked the door, right? Right. Okay. First thing is first; figure out how best to use the Holocron.

Putting my suitcase down in my room, I opened it and withdrew the 'container'. A busted mouse droid, candidly lifted from a garbage load I was helping to process on my last day aboard the Highlander. It was thoroughly gutted, leaving only the wheels inside. I popped open the bottom of the droid and withdrew the Holocron. I got up on the bed, a fold-out thing that came with a surprisingly comfortable mattress, and started meditating on the Holocron. Opening it up.

It spoke to me. I could feel it teaching me, handing out it's knowledge instead of simply sitting there and waiting for me to pick it up. It honestly was one of the most pleasant things to ever experience, like a wave of calm as knowledge filled my soul. But with that knowledge came a simple fact that I didn't know what to feel about.

In order to get the absolute most out of this Holocron, I was going to need to build a lightsaber. A real, true blue lightsaber. And while I wanted to do it…I really, really didn't want to do it. It was risky as heck. I mean, if I could just build a random lightsaber out of random parts, then disassemble the pieces and throw them away when I had to leave. Build a dozen lightsabers to train with over the course of my service in the Imperial Military. The problem?

The focusing crystal is the problem. See, there is no way I can ever get clearance to visit Illum. That place is so highly locked down only the Emperor himself and Vader can visit it freely and that's where the Jedi got their crystals. This is where the Legends/Disney canon divide really starts to bite.

In Legends, Jaina Solo created her own focusing crystal in a geological compressor. The only reason I know it was a compressor is because I researched crystal growing and manipulation in the Academy for the science course. The problem is that, from what I can recall, it was easy to screw up a synth-crystal. You could destroy the lightsaber and blow a limb off if you screw up, which would be very bad. That meant we needed to use a natural crystal, which I'll probably grow using water, a salt solution, and the force. And the fridge.

That takes something called time and I'd need to keep the crystal with me at all times because while I might not be being watched right now, as I progress in my career that's going to change. It's highly likely that I'm going to have spies following my every move, so I won't be able to just keep making new crystals over and over again over the years it's going to take to master Niman. Keeping the crystal on me and hiding it with me is about the only chance I got to stop someone from coming across it by searching my belongings.

I mean, I want too…I really want to build a lightsaber. Who _wouldn't_ want to build their own lightsaber? I mean, I prefer blasters by and large just because they're the more practical distance weapon. Well, I say more practical but given some of the crap the Jedi pull off with them, I'm going to say Lightsabers fall into the 'difficult but awesome' class of weapons. And…well…I want one. Shouldn't be too hard to get the solution, either. This might not be your average salt crystal, but the ingredients won't be _too_ hard to get.

But if I make a lightsaber, I have to figure out how to hide it.

Especially if I'm going to be meeting Vader in the near future.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: Alright, I'll come clean – I put no real thought into Tori when I first introduced her. If I want her to be a continuing presence in this fic, I need to develop her much, much more. More personality beyond her ambition and attraction to the MC. So, I'm going to try to do that if I want to avoid the trope 'creators pet' being applied to her._

 _Next chapter is going to be a montage much in the same vain as Jet's senior academy, going on about life on Corellia, some of the stuff he finds, maybe building a lightsaber. Maybe. Seeing how suicidal we can make Jet if he goes through with it._

 _Shout out goes out to_ Raven Uzushi, _welcome to the circle of patrons._

 _Shout out also goes out to Maben00, thanks for your support, you're awesome – you are now a Super Patron._

 _Shout out to Devil's Bite, you are crazy awesome, thanks for the boat load of support, you're awesome, welcome to the circle of Super Patrons you incredible human being._

 _Finally, a big thank you too_ Melden V, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba, Hackerham _and_ Tim Collins-Squire. _You guys are awesome, thank you._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	20. Weapons

_The Following is a Fan-based work of fiction. Star Wars is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please support the official release._

* * *

First crystal grew over the day. I reached out to it with the force, felt it grow and tried to move and adjust the crystal's structure as the solution solidified into an actual crystal. My focus broke multiple times throughout and I had to take a break and when the solution I had selected had finished crystalizing, I didn't even have to look at the thing to know that there was no way in heck that it would work as a saber crystal.

I mean, I did go over it when I researched things in the senior track – I and just about every officer that came out of that school (which admittedly wasn't many) knew what a Kyber crystal looked like and what it's chemical components were but actually growing one from scratch? That was much, much harder apparently. I guess Illum was just stupidly strong in the force for how many crystals show up there.

So, I started again.

And again.

And _again_.

I'm on crystal nine right now and it's been two weeks since my leave started. If nothing else, it's good practice for actually using the force instead of locking myself in a closet, plugging my ears and going 'la, la, la, I'm not listening'. Metaphorically, I mean.

Which is good because Niman? It's stand-out feature, according to master Drallig, is the heavy emphasis on using the force in conjunction with the bladework. Pulling people into your lightsaber, pushing them away them jumping after them, that sort of thing. Given how important a connection to the force is to winning in the dark-light tug of war, it makes total sense how Exar Kun, the most notable user of the form, was totally unbeatable with it.

So that meant I actually had to start _trying_ to lift things around.

That hasn't gone very well, though. There's a reason Anakin and Luke needed an instructor for this sort of thing, it's just not very intuitive. Not at all. I barely slowed the fall of a couple of cans in desperation a few years ago and that's as much as I got. Sensing and reacting to danger is one thing, actively trying to lift a crystal or two? That's just completely out of my purview.

I don't even know if I'm doing it right or if there's something I'm missing that would be obvious to a master. If I wasn't scared to death of losing my mind to Inquisitor training and being broken by the Emperor, I'd have turned myself over a looooong time ago. Of course, if I had done that, Luke and Leia were _kriffed_ big time. Obi-Wan and Yoda too.

It's just frustrating, which is bad because then I got to stop trying, take a breath to calm down and come back to the project a few minutes later which just makes it worse. Aggravating.

* * *

It works!

It works, it works, it works!

…not the lightsaber, I'm on Crystal fifteen. But this other part works!

See, the idea I had to camouflage my Lightsaber was to make it a part of a multitool. Because if Obi-Wan's lightsaber was any indication, with it's insanely skinny neck right before the blade's output, lightsabers can afford to be very, very compact. Which means that the traditional hilt will have some empty room for some additional tools. The first idea I had? An astromech I/O port. Because it always drove me nuts in the movie that they had to wait for R2 in the movies to open a crucial door.

So, here's how the port works – the bottom end of the saber plugs into the wall and operates the socket. It has a plug for a data-pad for me to input commands and maneuver the computer systems and a holoprojector to show me what the insides of the system look like. It also works as a holo-comm unit so bonus.

This'll all be mounted and built into the lightsaber hilt apart from the components of the blade itself. The clincher is that the hilt itself will be filled with opening and closing panels so that it looks like a seamless device. Both ends fold open and close and the lightsaber end, if I've got my numbers right, won't even look like it opens – just a round, seamless end to my slicing tool. Add the fact that the on and off switch will only be accessible with the force and won't activate anything until the blade compartment is opened as a safety feature, and it'll be indistinguishable from a power pack.

I won't be able to actually wear it on my person until I've received my commission, so it's a no-go for my next internship, but when I'm an actual officer? With a command? We can carry custom multi-tools. The only problem will be declaring it when I'm bringing it aboard the next star destroyer for my internship but after a brief demonstration of what it does (for the record) I can just leave it in my trunk. To top it off, if the crystal I end up making is as good at hiding as I am, I might even be able to bring it even if there's an Inquisitor onboard.

Which is good, because the whole point of the lightsaber is for plan Z. The plan that is 'everything's gone wrong, I've been found out, they got the drop on me, my back is against the wall, HELP ME!'. It's to help me get away from an inquisitor and find a ship, likely a gunboat since those actually have hyperdrives.

You know, I could set it so that the blade can be only an inch long. I wonder if they'd buy it as just a plasma cutter? Well, nah. Because the buttons would need to be visible for everyone to use and I don't want it activating for anything other than full-blown fight.

…though having it be a plasma cutter would be useful. Just a non-advertised feature.

* * *

"So, how's Balmorra?" I asked the tiny hologram.

"It's _amazing_ ," Tori gushed, this huge grin painted on her face "This is where the Empire manufactures its walkers and since I'm an Officer Candidate, they let me watch the whole process. It's _fascinating_ to see."

"They let you tour the factory?" I asked with a smile of my own. "That's awesome! What's it like?"

"I can't really say all that much," Tori shrugged. Then a large smile painted itself on her face. "I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I could go inside. But watching so many huge machines putting everything together, bolting the legs onto the chassis and seeing them install the cannons on the front? Oh, I almost got chills."

"There's nothing quite like watching a large gun get put together and knowing it can ruin someone's day," I replied with a matching smile. "Well, aside from firing it but you know. If we need to fire it, something's probably going to be shooting back."

"That's about the only downside, isn't it?" Tori said, taking a breath. "By the way, am I hearing the beginnings of a Corellian accent?"

"You are, actually," I answered, nodding. "I figured since I lived here, it'd be good to pick it up. You know, try something new."

"I like it," She said with a smile. "It makes you sound rugged."

"Ruggedly handsome?" I asked with a grin. "Or handsomely rugged?"

She giggled. "Both."

"Did you cut your hair?" I asked, putting on my best smirk. "It looks fantastic."

"I did," Tori responded, playfully pushing her hair up while striking a coy pose. "Thanks for noticing."

"How could I _not_ notice?" I asked, playing at sounding shocked.

She giggled again. "Thank you. When are we going to see each other again?"

"Perhaps sometime next month?" I tried, looking sad and regretful. "I'm sorry, but I've got some projects that have got me completely booked."

She hummed. "Same, actually. There's a lot of social engagements here on Balmorra and my parents are coming to visit to make sure I haven't died. Or forgotten them. Would the weekend of the sixteenth through eighteenth work?"

"The sixteenth's a Taungsday, right?" I asked. That's roughly the equivalent of the Wednesday through Friday since a standard week only has five days. "That works for me. Can't wait to see you again. In person."

"Neither can I," She replied with a wave. "See you then."

"See you," I ended the call.

…the more I thought about our time on Kuat, the less I liked it. She clearly lost interest after our second discussion, then was perfectly fine with me the next day. I mean, I _guess_ she could've thought about it and decided she could respect our differences in opinion but I'm afraid she reported me to the Imperial Security Bureau. Obviously, I haven't been dragged away in stun-cuffs, so I don't _think_ that's the case but I could easily be wrong. If she did…that would be bad.

I'd be on a list. Maybe I wouldn't be watched every second of the day and maybe I got some leeway for surviving an attack on a Star Destroyer, but I'd be on a list and that would make my goals so much harder.

My apartment was clear of bugs, I checked. I soaked the information on how to place bugs from Werner so I knew where they were likely to hide them so again; there's room for some doubt. But I've got a bad feeling about it and if Han Solo's taught me anything, it's that bad feelings mean bad things are going to happen.

Makes me wish I had kept my mouth shut to be honest. I don't know, I thought there might've been a deeper connection there. That I might've had someone I can trust. I felt like I could trust her. I still do, though there's the doubt that it's just my hormones screwing with me.

If she did, I don't think I'd be able to look at her without being sick.

* * *

You know what I just realized?

Blaster bolts can be affected by the force.

The thought came to me as I was brushing my teeth and looking in the mirror and I remembered a scene where some Sith Lord froze a blaster bolt in mid-air. I don't remember who it was that did it, but it happened. Do you know what that means?

It means that the saber-style that I'm learning from and am having trouble building the saber to practice it, might actually be of use when shooting a blaster as well as in the lightsaber fight. Since I'm on crystal nineteen, that helps me out a lot since I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get anything of real worth out of the Holocron besides theory if it took too long too to build before my next internship – because after the one, it was straight to the Corps for training and my commission – I wouldn't have this level of free time again.

Draw speed, accuracy, pointing my blaster in the right direction, assisting the bolts in midflight, speeding _up_ the bolts, all things that would be useful and possible with the force assisting me in combat. This is Niman's biggest specialty and what I'm going to be focusing on since I can't get the freaking Kyber-crystal to work.

I'll keep working on the crystal of course, simply because it's too useful to get and this might be the only time I'll be able to actually build a lightsaber before my defection – that means getting practice with it in case things go south and since it's Niman, it should be relatively simple to pick it up and make it useful.

I can't really practice with a vibroblade or staff because those weapons have weight all over them while a sabers weight is all in the hilt – I'd pick up a lot of bad habits and integrate them into my muscle memory and I'd have to completely relearn everything once I get a saber which will actually take longer. It's just not feasible.

So, first things first – start practicing my TK, use a blinder with a stun blaster to practice with a remote to start practicing fighting with the force. I don't exactly know _what_ my assigned specialization is going to be once I get to the Academy on Carida, so I think it'll be best to train with something of the same weight and kick as the E-11, as well as a sidearm.

Thirdly, I need to find something else if this next crystal doesn't work because I can only take so much frustration on this leave, and I'd like to _relax_ before I'm thrown into the Imperial War machine.

* * *

The crystal was clear, and seemed to shine from within with a white glow. It seemed to have the force within it as an unnatural warmth glowed from within it. And it is with that force presence that I learned that this crystal would get destroyed if I tried to use it in a lightsaber.

Alright, that's it. I'm done trying to make a Kyber crystal, I'm not skilled enough in the force to do it. So, what do we do? Well, I've got some options. Illum is absolutely not. Going to Tattooine to _obtain_ a Krayt Dragon pearl is absolutely a no-no because if I _am_ on some kind of list, I'd be leading the Empire right to Obi-Wan and more importantly to _Luke_. So, what are my options? Dantooine?

I almost didn't want to try that because I wasn't sure it even existed in this universe that I'm in. The reason I say that is because the Crystal Cave was the source of some _very_ powerful lightsaber crystals for both Darth Revan and for the Jedi Exile and the Empire hasn't done a darn thing about it. It's not under quarantine, people can come and go from it as they please.

Compared to Illum's complete and total lock down, that seems like a pretty good indicator of 'there is actually nothing to see here at all'. So then…wait. Wait, wait, wait. I just had a memory come back.

 _Chandrila_.

I haven't see too much of that planet, but I remember that it had an _amazing_ tomb for a long-dead Jedi Master. Crystals _everywhere_. It was also untouched by the Empire for whatever reason, only being defiled by the Disciples of Ragnos to drain its force energy.

…long story, but the point is, I might be able to find something there!

I'll need to take a shuttle there, rent a speeder to search through Chandrila's crystal canyons for the tomb, hopefully find a crystal there, then come back. Should only take me a few days, but I'll plan to be gone for the whole week just in case. I don't know exactly where the tomb would be but I think I can find it in the planetary archives when I get there.

I get paid…what, tomorrow? Yeah, I can budget for the trip. Should be simple. I just need to remember the costs when I'm purchasing another remote tomorrow because I accidentally fried the first one with a full power shot.

Well, not entirely accidentally. It managed to land a lucky hit on me and I got annoyed. They're not exactly _cheap_ , either. I mean, they are, but not to the point where I can buy one every week. I'll practice when I'm out there, it'll be kind of like camping.

Now, what to do with this comparatively fragile little thing?

…you know, I just had an idea for a necklace I could give to Tori…

* * *

So, I more or less decided that Corellia was like 'space America'. It had all the components of the heartland, it's architecture reminded me of New York City and San Francisco. Chandrila was not that. Its architecture was flowing and fluid, great bridges and tall spires. If I had to describe it succinctly, it was 'comic-book sci-fi, crystal empire utopia…pared down to realistic standards'. The whole planet was just beautiful, on the surface being every person's dreams of what the future would hold, a peaceful planet populated by peaceful people.

If it kept to that beneath the surface even a little bit, I'd be surprised but maybe I've spent too long in the Empire.

I walked past the Rotunda, a relatively famous place in the Galaxy that had been derided in the Academy for being a bed of sedition and treasonous ideas so clearly it wasn't that bad. I mean, even people who claimed to be for peace and tolerance could be as hostile to ideas different than their own as the Emperor himself if they didn't keep check for the infectious sin of hypocrisy. So I wasn't sure if it really was a discussion for different ideas or merely a circle-jerk of their own delusions that continually got more and more detached from reality until they alienated the grand majority.

But then, notions like that are why I stayed out of politics for the most part – I couldn't be bothered to find out who was right and who was deluded. Too lazy and since I'm trying to defect later, I've more or less made my stance.

Anyway, Chandrila's planetary archives reminded me of the _Hall of Justice_ and it made me smile just looking at the thing. Inside, I'd say it felt like the Library of Congress in that it felt quite stately and orderly. Thankfully, I was wearing my uniform so I didn't feel out of place.

I walked up to the front desk and caught the eye of the Librarian. "Excuse me?"

She, a girl with her curly red hair falling down her back, looked up at me with emerald eyes. "Hello, sir. How can I help you?"

"This is going to sound odd," I replied, putting on my best, charming smile. "But I'm looking for a mausoleum here on Chandrila and I would like some help finding it."

"Oh. Is someone you know buried there?" She asked with a careful look at me while she reached for her terminal.

"No, actually. I just heard from someone who saw it that it was amazingly beautiful," I replied, still smiling. "And I wanted to see it for myself – but I forgot to ask who it was built for."

"That's a shame," She replied with a nod. "Uh…list of mausoleums. Did it have any distinguishing features?"

"He said there was a lot of crystals," I replied. In the game we explored that tomb in, my Jaden was always male. I don't think I ever completed a playthrough with a female Jaden, even though she was voiced by the lovely Jennifer Hale. "So, I assume it was built into one of the crystal canyons."

"How old was it?" She asked, typing some more things into the terminal.

"Thousands of years," I replied with a nod. That I knew for a fact. "I think he said something about…someone from an old religion being housed there? Like a knight or something?"

"You mean like a Jedi?" She asked, turning to me.

"That's the one," I replied with a snap of my fingers. "Thank you."

"You must be young," She muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Hm…no, I'm not finding anything here. No Jedi with tombs that old. I'm sorry."

 _She's lying_. I can feel it. "Well, thank you for looking. I appreciate the help."

"You're welcome," She said with a warm smile. "If there's anything else, please come find me."

I gave her a gracious nod, and left for further into the archives and withdrew into the stacks of data-slates and archival servers, arranged in ways reminiscent of bookcases. The place was the model of a futuristic library and because of that, I think I'll be able to find…aha.

At the end of each stack was an Astromech port. I brought my multitool and after opening the jack, the holo projector and hooking up my datapad, I slid the jack into the port and it started spinning, getting to work.

It was a simple matter of searching – the archives were all hooked up together and the terminals they had for public searches might have parameters and firewalls restricting the search. The Chandrilan's hiding the existence of the tomb would be why it wasn't disturbed by the Empire and I applauded the guts they had.

Get past the firewall, add throw in some junk code to keep the system busy…there.

 _The Tomb of the Barsen'thor_ , a Jedi Warden. Buried some three thousand years ago, this was clearly what I needed.

I looked to the side, then another, to make sure no one saw me or was coming to investigate. I couldn't sense anything, but as my training with the remote has taught me, I'm not the most precise when it comes to that sort of thing.

Download the coordinates onto the datapad and…done.

I withdrew the tool and unhooked the datapad. I put both back on my belt and got onto a terminal, looking through planetary records…best to look legitimate for a while and give anyone looking for me, and I was afraid that the librarian might tell someone that I was looking for that tomb, the wrong idea about the progress that I made.

Last thing I need is someone _following_ me to the tomb.

* * *

Chandrila's crystal canyons, for lack of a better word, were _breathtaking_. Miles and miles of canyon with crystal growths as tall as buildings growing out of them and reflecting the light of Chandrila's sun in such a way as to make it appear like a sea of stars.

I love this planet. I love this planet quite a bit. The speeder I was in was open-top, with the seats and vents heating the cockpit to keep me warm even at the altitude of a kilometer above the ground. I wasn't going to take a direct route to the tomb incase I had someone sneakily following me. Besides, I needed some time to train with the remote I brought.

As the journey started to go long, the sun setting behind me as I left daylight time-zones behind and space lag started to set in, I brought the speeder down, letting it rest on the ground next to the canyon. The tomb was six clicks to the east and if I can see that I'm not being followed, I'll follow after my rest and morning training.

Then my holo-communicator beeped. The one that was _not_ in the lightsaber-hilt, I haven't connected that one yet. The holoimage, after the static cleared, showed Brigand. "Hey, Candidate."

"Master Sergeant," I replied, responding with a crisp salute, before remembering that he wasn't my commanding officer anymore. "Oh, heh. Sorry."

"It's fine," He said, waving it off with his hand. "Old habits die hard, right? How's leave treating you?"

"Honestly, I'm taking the opportunity to see the galaxy," I replied with a smile. "I've been wanting to see Chandrila's crystal canyons for a while and now that I'm on leave, I've got a chance. They're _gorgeous_. Have you ever been here?"

"I have," Brigand nodded with a smile…the first one I've ever seen him wear. "I was stationed there on peace-keeping efforts early in my career. Most boring post of my career, it was great."

"I'll bet it was," I nodded. "No threat of rebel cells blowing anything up here, it's just…peaceful."

"That it is," Brigand nodded. "Zipir and I have been talking, and we were going to put a request to High Command that once you became a proper trooper, you'd take your first command with the 357th. You and Orton, seeing how well you both did."

"That'd be great," I said with a nod. I would _not_ mind serving with Brigand again, actually. I might not, since there's over a dozen squadrons in the Legion, but I'd like to stay on with the 357th. It'd be better than the 501st, definitely. "Say, now that I'm off duty…what do I call you, Brigand?"

"Off duty? Call me Charles," Brigand answered with a nod. "You and Orton still talking?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Things are going great. You had a chance to talk with her at all?"

"I've called her, yeah," Brigand replied. "She seemed kind of upset when I brought you up, so I was curious if something happened."

Uh-oh. "You know why? I thought things were great."

"No," Brigand shook his head. "But if you want to keep things going with her, I'd find out what it is and resolve it, if you can."

"I'll try," I nodded. Still going to give her that necklace. If it's nothing, it's nothing. But if it's something…it might guilt her into admitting it. I don't want to go full on manipulation, but if it's nothing, I gave a girl I was interested in a pretty necklace. "…so, did you know she was interested? In me?"

"Eh, I suspected it," He shrugged. "I caught her sending you a few looks that officers typically don't give each other. Don't think she was going to do anything though until the attack happened and she thought you were going to die soon."

"Cool, so it wasn't completely out of the blue," I replied with a shrug. "I'm just oblivious."

"If you find a guy that isn't, you better introduce me," Brigand replied with a sarcastic smirk. "I want to know the secret."

"Same," I nodded, before yawning. "Excuse me. How's the 357th?"

"We're almost entirely restaffed," Brigand replied, shaking his head. "We just got a cargo-hauler's worth of new blood, so we're going to be going back on maneuvers as soon as we've got everyone – get them trained up. _Highlander's_ space worthy again; took them long enough."

"That's good," I said with a smile. "This might sound odd, but I miss the old girl."

"That's just a sign that you're already a trooper," Brigand said. "Being on leave is great, but a Destroyer is honestly home. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when I retire."

"How long you got until then?" I asked quizzically.

"A while," He said, looking off to the side. "Anyway, you look beat, so I'll let you go so you can grab some shut-eye, alright?"

"Alright. Thanks for calling, Brigand," I said with a smile. "Good night."

"See you kid," He bade farewell and I shut off the coms.

…I've got a bad feeling about Tori. That's not something I really want if I'm going to be entering a serious relationship.

* * *

 _Author's Notes: It's legal to camp out under the stars on Chandrila on any piece on unclaimed land. It's illegal to pick a spot, call it home and start a community there._

 _Uh…other than that…yeah. I had debated him going to Tattooine. I really wanted him to hunt a Krayt Dragon. Maybe he'll head there at a later date to do just that but not right now. As much as I like Tattooine, I_ love _the tomb of the Jedi on Chandrila. One of the greatest levels in Star Wars video game history in my opinion._

 _Shout out goes out to Raven Uzushi_ and Javier Ricaurte, _welcome both of you, to the circle of patrons. Shout out also goes out to our newest Super Patron_ Avinash Bakshi. _All of your assistance is super appreciated and I thank you for it._

 _Finally, a special thanks to super patrons_ Melden V, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, Tomer Zwighaft, keefe owens, Jiopaba, Hackerham, Tim Collins-Squire, Maben00 _and_ Devil's Bite _. Thanks all for your support, you guys are the best._

 _Current top patron is Devil's Bite – thanks man._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


	21. The Tomb

_The Following is a Fan-based work of fiction. Star Wars is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Please support the official release._

* * *

At first, the tomb was just a simple cave – a cave that I had, at first, considered a dead end and that my trip was a waste of time. That is, until I moved a rock off of the trap-door which covered the tombs only entrance.

The long, long, _long_ tunnel down was lit at the bottom with a soft, violet light at the bottom which had me worried that the grapple hook and line wouldn't be long enough. It was, but just barely – I was going to need to jump off of the wall to get that extra air.

But it was then that things were starting to look familiar. Kind of. I had come down to a corridor with designs carefully carved into the stone floors and walls. But my way was barred by a giant boulder that I didn't recall at first, until I remembered that Jaden had _pushed_ this rock into some unfortunate mercenary and sent him tumbling below.

You know he was only fourteen when he fought that entire cult? I know, I couldn't believe it either, I could've sworn he was an adult already.

I digress.

Thankfully, I was able to squeeze past this boulder as it didn't seal the corridor completely. Then I came to the tomb proper and I was blown away.

The tomb was built into a massive cavern, with bridges connecting one side to another. The light of the massive growths of Kyber crystals bathed the cavern in violet light, almost giving the tomb a dream-like quality. The walls and corridors almost seemed to fade out of view like the whole tomb was just a giant ghost.

To cap it all off was the sheer feeling that this place was _alive_. It was a force nexus, after all and while I knew that intellectually, it was a completely different thing altogether to _feel_ it. To feel the force pulsing in every nook and cranny nearly took my breath away.

I was breathing heavily regardless and I could _hear_ binary sunset playing while I looked out into the tomb.

Okay.

My crystal had to be here somewhere.

The question is where?

Reaching out with the force, in this place, was like diving into the ocean after only being exposed to water in small glasses for your entire life. Like hearing a symphony after you've only heard a single note from a single instrument. It was, quite frankly, the best thing ever. Whoever this Jedi was, he was very powerful and endlessly benevolent and it showed even in the cracks where the tomb's architecture was beginning to crumble.

I know where my crystal is.

On the walls, written in Aurebesh, were endless passages about Jedi teachings and their philosophy. The only thing that stopped me from taking pictures of this stuff to go over later was that I didn't want any evidence of my trip here and bringing evidence with me while I was in the Empire was just asking for trouble. More than just taking a lightsaber that can be easily passed off as a custom multitool.

But some of the stuff was so _good_ though. Like "a Jedi should endeavor not just to control their emotions, but to understand them so they can find true peace" or "a Jedi should always seek greater knowledge, but not at the expense of all the other knowledge they gained".

I think that second one means trying to understand the dark side is fine but not if it means you lose your ability to reason out right and wrong. An odd way of putting it, but it makes sense. Anakin went from zero to child murderer in a few seconds, so I can see where it's coming from.

Walking through the halls, feeling the still air move around my legs as I walked past the statues of old masters, through crystal-decorated rooms and over bridges, opening each door I came across, seeing more art, more Jedi scripture, and more monuments to this Jedi Master's magnificence.

Eventually, I came to a large staircase. I had brief memories of the Disciples of Ragnos standing guard, preventing Jaden Korr from reaching the sarcophagus at the end so they can siphon the energy of this Force Nexus. Had to cut my way through them with a lightsaber very similar to the one that I was trying to construct.

Then I came to the end, and there it was. The Sarcophagus itself, propped up on a bed of Kyber crystals and there, at the foot, was a crystal. Mine.

…what's it doing at the foot of the sarcophagus? I…don't _sense_ danger or anything, so maybe it's just the Force giving me a bone. To which I say, thanks!

I bent at the knee, gingerly picking it up and watching as the transparent crystal slowly turned blue at my touch. My favorite color and I felt it as easily as I would my own skin and through that feeling I could sense that it almost mirrored myself in its own way.

"Hey little guy," I muttered to it with a smile on my face. "You just want to hide as much as I do, huh?"

Not really a response, but it didn't need to give one. I felt that I wouldn't have any problems hiding this thing from any but the most determined seeker.

I wrapped it up in the clothe that I had brought, and gently placed it into the pouch on my belt that I prepared. With a breath, I looked up at the sarcophagus. "Either Chandrila _adored_ this Jedi, or he was _loaded_."

"It was most certainly the latter."

I whirled around, blaster in hand, ready blast some guy right between the eyes when I caught sight of the source of the voice. He was a man, clearly human, with dark hair that was carefully groomed. His face was cleanshaven and if I didn't know any better, I'd have said his robes were embroidered with _gold_. Er…electrum. He was tinted blue and transparent…this is a force ghost.

"Uh…hi," I said, slowly lowering the pistol. "Sorry about that. I wasn't really, you know…expecting anyone else."

"That's quite alright," The ghost good-naturedly smiled. "Consider that crystal my gift to you, Jethro. I've been eagerly awaiting your arrival since you came into the galaxy."

"You have me at a disadvantage," I replied, holstering my blaster and regarding the ghost carefully. "Who are you and what do you mean by 'since I came into the galaxy'?"

"My name is Azar Kazerbyne," He formally introduced himself with a bow. "And I know that you aren't necessarily _from_ the galaxy. Originally. You know what I mean."

I blinked. "You know I was _re_ born here."

"That's right," He nodded. "And since no one else has had the ability to do so, allow me to be the first to formally welcome you to the galaxy far, far away. We're very glad to have you."

"Thank you," I said with a sheepish smile of my own. "I'm really happy to be here."

"Quite," Azar nodded again, his smile shifting to a thoughtful look. "And you've come at a very interesting time. The Republic became the Empire, the 'Chosen One' fell to the Dark Side and the Jedi have few if any living members remaining. Just before the _birth_ of our galaxy in your old galaxy, if I'm correct."

"That's right," I nodded. "So you know about everything…and…"

"I already knew everything you knew, but seeing it from the perspective of a holonovel was interesting," Azar shrugged. "I would say that everyone person that has ever become one with the force is aware of you and your existence, as they are aware of everyone else."

"You know, if someone figured out that I came from a reality where all of this is just fiction, I'd have thought they'd either go delirious with existential crises, or wouldn't stop asking me questions," I replied, folding my arms behind my back. "But then, if anyone would figure that out, it would be a force ghost and…like you said, you already know everything I knew. So…yeah. Expectations subverted."

"Life tends to happen that way," Azar mused. "If I may be so bold, I'd say you've become an insurance policy if the Empire ever finishes destroying the Jedi."

I blinked. "How did I do that?"

"By being a force sensitive that's joined the Empire and is capable of hiding from the Emperor himself," He replied. "I know that wasn't your intention, but the fact that you have the force, a Jedi Holocron and a full understanding of what the Sith are capable of means that they could find Obi-Wan, Yoda and still fail to fully extinguish the Light."

"You do know that it's my intention to cut ties from the Empire as soon as is convenient, right?" I asked with a frown.

He shook his head. "No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"I'm afraid it isn't," Azar shook his head again. "Because if it were your intention, you'd have cut ties the moment you set foot upon Correllia's surface. No, your intention, for good or ill, is to emulate a Jedi Master which does not exist in this rendition of the Galaxy by following his footsteps into the darkest places of the Empire, fully intending to keep your will and conscience intact."

I was quiet for a minute. "Is that possible?'

"With the Force, all things are possible," Azar nodded. "So yes, it is."

"Well, that's a relief," I let out a sigh of relief. "Can you train me?"

"Certainly!" He beamed. "In fact, I was hoping you'd ask. I have much to teach you."

"Just like that?" I asked, blinking.

"Just like that," He replied, his eyebrow being raised. "But by necessity, your training will be brief. As much as it would be great if you could spend the rest of your leave here, training with me, the repeated supply trips, your paycheck being spent on Chandrila instead of Corellia to buy supplies, Chandrila itself being very sensitive about the location of this tomb…you'd leave a paper trail."

"I never thought a force ghost would be concerned about such trivial matters as a _paper trail_ ," I replied incredulously. "Its…funny."

"We'll I'd hate for my first student in millennia get destroyed by the Sith due to carelessness," Azar replied with a raised eyebrow. "Though if you left the Empire right now and disappeared, I'd be able to give you a much more solid education."

It was tempting. But I had already made my choice. SCAR or bust. "I'll pass."

"Very, very hard headed," He put his hands on his waist, shaking his head. "Alright, then. How long can you remain here before you return to civilization?"

"I have supplies for two more days," I answered after a brief look at my pack.

"Very well, let's begin," He said. "I'm going to give you a series of exercises for you to practice while you are away. These are exercises meant to strengthen your connection to the force and help you control your emotions…you've already gotten a fairly good handle on that, but more tools can't hurt…"

Well, this is bizarre. Cool, but bizarre.

* * *

Learning how to meditate correctly meant meditating in uncomfortable positions. The more uncomfortable you are, I think, means that it took more to shake you from your focus. On the one hand, these positions were uncomfortable. On the other hand, I was finally lifting something – a smooth, round rock that had been brought out for this exercise.

"Your relationship with your girlfriend is troubling you," Azar stated.

"Is this really the best time to be talking about that?" I asked, since I was in the middle of a one-handed hand-stand, trying to focus.

"A Jedi has to learn to multitask," Azar replied and while I couldn't see it, I think he was smirking.

"Okay then. On our first date, Tori and I had a political discussion," I said, taking a breath, keeping my legs up. "Next day, we continued that discussion and it seemed like her interest went cold. Final day of leave, she shows up in a mini-dress and says she likes me in spite of our disagreement."

"You suspect her of betraying you?" Azar asked.

"I suspect she might've reported me to ISB, yeah," I replied, my words coming out in labored breaths. "She was told to keep an eye on me because it would be good for her career."

"Did you try to discern the truth with the force?" Azar asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because as much as I steal skills, copy the good and productive parts of their routines from their brain and into my own," I started, pausing only to switch hands. "I do my best to not go diving into a person's memories or thoughts. A person's identity is sacrosanct in my opinion."

"Yet you were able to tell that the secretary trying to mislead you was lying," Azar pointed out.

"That's not something I can help _but_ notice," I answered.

"Well, was Tori lying to you when she said she decided she could overlook your difference in opinions?" Azar asked.

I stopped there for a minute. "No. But there's more too it than that. I _sense_ it."

"How are you going to find out?" Azar asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I could just ask her?" I suggested. "If she did, she'll lie to me and I'll have my answer. But if she didn't, I'd be hurting her feelings a lot and still have my answer…and she might do exactly that because I hurt her feelings. _Hell hath no fury_ and all that."

"What's the full saying?" Azar asked, sounding curious.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," I repeated. "Don't know where it's from or who coined the phrase, but I don't want to experience it first-hand."

"I can certainly see that," Azar agreed. "Now, this discussion…was it overly treasonous or was it just an actual discussion?"

"I didn't advocate we overthrow the Emperor or anything," I answered. "I even agreed that the Tarkin Doctrine has some merit. At least I think I did. But I seriously doubt she actually believes that I'll commit treason just because I don't believe the Tarkin Doctrine is necessarily the _best_ way of going about things. I mean, I'm not going too until the Alliance to Restore the Republic is formally organized."

"You sound like you have reservations about the entire idea of defecting," Azar stated.

"Everyone I know and love is in the Empire," I explained. "So, I decided I won't leave until they force me too. Essentially."

"By ordering you to partake in those atrocities the Sith seem to love so much, undoubtedly," Azar summed up. "That's hardly a plan."

"I'm allergic to overly complicated plans," I replied, taking a deep breath. "A plan with too many moving parts is likely to break."

"Do you really want the Republic to be reinstated?" Azar asked.

"You ask a lot of questions," I said, moving my head to look at him. Upside down he might be, I still wanted to glare at him. "I thought you knew everything."

"I know most things," Azar explained. "I'm more interested in helping you teach yourself."

I groaned; I had used the exact method of teaching that he's using before and I knew it was effective. It was just annoying is all. "Not as it was, no."

"What would you change?"

"The republic as I knew it was a large, gluttonous, unproductive mess," I explained. "So I'd like more delegation, less weight being placed on the Senate and Supreme Chancellor or whatever we'd end up having, just so the entire galaxy isn't held up by a single trade dispute."

"You would like something similar to the Moff system put in place by the Emperor?" Azar asked neutrally.

I fell to the ground, the air being knocked out of me as I crashed to the ground. The stone I had been lifting fell, hitting the ground with a solid 'thunk'. "That's hurtful."

"But is it untrue?"

I sat up and shook my arms out. "No, I guess it's not. The Empire's problem is that everyone is corrupt."

"That tends to happen when those ruled by the Darkside are placed in charge," Azar pointed out conversationally. "I've only ever met one Sith Lord that was truly in control of the power he wielded; the rest were more similar to rabid kath hounds than sentients."

"Who was that?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Darth Imperious," Azar answered with a smirk. "I believe you know of him?"

I was _sputtering_. "No way. He was _real_? Wait, if you met him, that's means that you are…"

"That's correct," He smiled good-naturedly. "I'm sorry my story was boring to you, but I think that's mostly due to you suffering from fatigue from playing the same class for so long."

Darth Imperious was one of the Player Characters from Star Wars: The Old Republic. Imperious was one of the titles given to Sith Inquisitors at the end of their story, but only if they made light-side choices throughout the campaign. The fact that this guy was so wealthy, so powerful and most importantly, alive at that period, only means that this guy is the playable Jedi Counselor.

"Well, you blew my mind just now," I told him with a gesture, starting to get back up into my handstand.

"That's enough." He held up a hand to stop me. "I think you can use a break. Tell me, did you bring the parts to your saber?"

"I did," I said, drawing the hilt out from my belt. "Am I ready to assemble it?"

"Not yet," Azar replied. "But possibly soon."

"What do I need to accomplish?" I asked with a frown.

"Well, you're finally able to lift your saber off of the ground," Azar said with an approving nod. "So, we'll see about putting it together tomorrow."

"Awesome," I said with a grin.

"Now going back to Tori," He started.

I sighed.

"How are you going to find out?" He asked again.

"I don't know," I replied, standing up.

"I would normally say reach out to her with your feelings and discern her intentions," Azar continued. "But you've made mention of your hesitance to do that so…do you have another solution?"

"Talk with her again, talk about the Empire's good points," I began with a shrug. Then I sighed again. "…I just need to ask her, don't I?"

"Perhaps. Do you trust her?" Azar asked.

"…yeah," I nodded. "But… _trust but verify_ , you know?"

"That is wise," Azar nodded. Then he looked curious. "Is that the whole saying? 'Trust but verify'?"

"I think so."

* * *

I've been through a lot since I came to the Galaxy.

With M7's help, I gained the qualifications to the Royal Academy on Coruscant. Then with Pyrus's help, I passed with enough flair to qualify for the senior track and had the grit needed to pass all three years in spite of some backstabbing.

Then I survived an actual attack on a Star Destroyer, doing everything a normal Storm Trooper is supposed to do. I found a girl who, now that I've had a chance to really think and let the Force…'weigh in' as it were, I don't believe reported me, but was wrestling with the decision to do so or to not do so for a while. But she likes me. Actually likes me.

Does it say anything about me that the notion surprises me?

I even think she'd follow me to the rebellion if she were exposed to the Empire's crueler habits; hearing that the attack on the Highlander was because of an Imperial Moff was even enough to shake her faith to begin with.

Bottom line, I have a life here and it's an awesome life.

Here on Chandrila, I found the force ghost of someone I had forgotten existed, all too happy to train me. For what? Well…I'm the backup plan, but I'm more than that. I feel like I'm going to be more than that.

Because I'm here and I know what I know, I have the opportunity to change things. I think that my big opportunity to really change things is coming up soon. I don't know what it's going to be, exactly, but there's an opportunity coming up very shortly that's going to change everything.

I might not recognize the opportunity when I see it. It might not be obvious at first. But it's going to arrive and when it does…I think I'll do the right thing. I have the force. I have used it before – I used it all over the place when the Highlander was being attacked. I'll seize that opportunity.

The goal I originally set for myself, to follow in the steps of Kyle Katarn, become an Imperial Commando, then defect to the Rebellion, doesn't matter as much as I previously thought it did. Kyle was known as the Chuck Norris of Star Wars not just because of what he could do, but because of what he let the players experience in his boots. How powerful he made them _feel_.

But now I'm here, living out my own story and I don't need a proxy to do so. I'm learning the ways of the Force _myself_ and I'm building a lightsaber _myself_. It feels good. I love this galaxy and everyone in it. Even the Emperor…kind of. I mean, without him, Luke, Leia and Han would never have risen to prominence to stop him.

I'm not the hero of the galaxy. I was never meant to be. But I've got my own role to play…I feel like I'm going to give hope to someone who has none, though I don't know who that is and, honestly, that's just my best guess.

And if I pass from this galaxy having only done that in my life, I think I'd be content.

The bright, blue beam of the lightsaber ignited from the handle in my hands and a giddy, impossibly happy smile slowly painted itself across my face and tears poured from my eyes. I've got my very own _lightsaber_. Absolutely anyone who has seen Star Wars has wanted one. A real, functional, Lightsaber.

 _I've got one_.

"You've done well," Azar said with a smile. "Good work. Now, how are you going to keep it hidden?"

"Beyond my crystals fondness for being hidden," I began, locking the flaps securely in place with the force, so that the split down the middle was not visible. It looked like a seamless, solid metal tube with rounded ends. "I'm going to keep this locked securely near the back on my belt, with the Astromech-plug facing up so that those who know what my 'power-pack' does will think that's all it does."

"Very good," Azar nodded. "Now, when are you going to return?"

"In three months," I replied with a nod. "And two weeks. And a day. Spaced out that way so it doesn't look like I'm making regular trips to Chandrila – and I'll be visiting Tyferra later because I want to see how Bacta is manufactured…and see if I can visit Cloud City because why not and…"

"You're going to be touring the galaxy to avoid making it seem like you're coming to Chandrila for any particular reason," Azar raised his hands to stop me, a smile on his face. "It's a good plan."

"Is there anything to look for on Balmorra?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "I'm going to see Tori in the month, so I was wondering."

"No," Azar replied. "But perhaps you might find something later?"

"I might be able to get a personal battle droid," I mused, raising my eyebrow as I considered the possibilities. "Customize it with a bunch of gadgets, a jetpack…you know. The usual."

"That would be helpful," Azar nodded. "Take great care in hiding your lightsaber – should the Sith discover you, your flight will need to be expedient and skillfull…and highly likely to fail."

"I have the force on my side," I replied.

"So, do they," He replied forlornly.

"Point," I replied with a nod, placing the lightsaber – I mean 'multitool', in it's place, where it was secure and didn't flop around. "I'll be careful."

"Thank you," He said with a smile. "Now, some homework. In addition to doing those meditation exercises each day, I want you to come up with a plan in case you are discovered. A real one. You have dozens of plans for remaining undetected, but no plans for if the worst should happen. "

"…alright, I'll get it done," I said. And I will…honestly, the idea that I might get caught has been pushed to the back of my mind to prevent panic attacks, but that's not going to get me any closer to dealing with that eventuality, is it?

"Good, my young Padawan," He smiled. "Very good."

* * *

 _Author's Notes: I think my biggest fear with having the Force Ghost of the Barsen'thor teach jet is having it feel Deus Ex Machina – like it was happening just because the plot said so. I actually didn't plan on the ghost appearing, it just…happened._

 _As for Tori, I don't know what's going to happen with her and Jet. What I do know is that her strength as a character lies in being a sympathetic member of the Empire that Jet can have discussions with, not necessarily because her and Jet are a power couple._

 _Shout out goes out too_ Raven Uzushi, Javier Ricaurte, _welcome to the circle of patrons._

 _Shout out also goes out too_ Avinash Bakshi, _congratulations on becoming a Super Patron._

 _Shout out also goes out too_ Melden V, Anders Kronquist, Ray Tony Song, makopaulo, Volkogluk, Aaron Bjornson, iolande, Martin Auguado, Julio, keefe owens, Jiopaba, Hackerham, Tim Collins-Squire, Maben00 _and_ Devil's Bite, _thank you guys, you are all awesome._

 _Until the next time!_

 _~Fulcon_


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